


i've been waiting for the sun to rise

by JuniperTrees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: Canon divergence later on, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Merula Snyde Redemption, Merula's Perspective, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperTrees/pseuds/JuniperTrees
Summary: Seven years worth of biting words, declarations of hatred, close duels, fleeting touches, and she still won’t admit what you mean to her.Merula, and how much she feels for you.





	1. year one

**Author's Note:**

> mc is called (y/n) & has she/her pronouns, but please change the gender to your liking!
> 
> big thank you to zuulosdovah for letting me use her [twins!Rowan](https://zuulosdovah.tumblr.com/post/183126914976/twin-au-but-theyre-both-still-called-rowan-and) idea (rowan is male, rowen is female) check her out [here](https://zuulosdovah.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> endless gratitude to my beta-reader, [Raven](https://impossiblesharkperson.tumblr.com/) \- you’re fantastic :’)

It’s the same dream. 

It’s clear and repetitive and frustrating enough that she knows it isn’t going away and she can’t do anything about it. Merula refuses to call it a nightmare because even at ten years old, she’s been told not to fear.

In the dream, her parents’ faces are always the same: imploring, angry, like they want something. They mouth empty words and threats that Merula can’t hear. She asks them _what _like a broken record even though she can’t hear them. From their lack of response, it doesn’t seem like they can hear her either.

Merula is ten years old and doesn’t understand good or evil. She’s too young to understand the blend between right and wrong. (At times, it seems like everything she does is wrong.)

She doesn’t understand why her parents left and never gets a straightforward answer when she asks. She doesn’t understand that some things are too big for her to comprehend, that some things will always be.

_ They’re in Azkaban, _ her grandmother murmurs and fixes Merula with a glare before she can ask more. _ I’ll tell you the rest when you’re older. _Merula doesn’t know much about Azkaban, but she knows it’s the subject of a lot of scary stories. She doesn’t know that sometimes, people go there and don’t come back.

She does know, or at least believes, that when You-Know-Who comes back, so will her parents. Her grandmother never explains her parents connections with him to her, but Merula hears snippets of conversation when her grandmother has friends over, and she stays up late, pressing her ear to the door to hear something, anything.

She catches soft murmurs, hears the clink of glasses. _ To the dark lord, _ they toast softly in unison. They make him sound important, powerful. Merula wants to be just like that, so sometimes, she says it with them.

She bides her time. _ Bring back You-Know-Who_, she thinks, _ and I’ll get my parents back, too_.

She’s ten-years-old and doesn’t think about consequences, repercussions, or why her grandmother’s acquaintances scare her.

She just wants her parents back.

* * *

The Hogwarts letter is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She wakes up on her eleventh birthday to see the red-crested envelope lying on her bedside table, and goes running down the stairs to the dining room, flushed and giddy. 

_ Look nana, look, _she says, breathing uneven and grinning from ear to ear, and her grandmother genuinely smiles. She stops smiling though, when Merula asks if she can write her parents. Maybe, if they hear how good she’s been, that she’s going to one of the best wizarding schools, they’ll think about coming back to visit her.

Merula gets letters from them sometimes. _ Love, mom and dad_, they read at the end in careful script. When they haven’t written in a while, Merula asks her grandmother about it, and somehow, as if they know Merula is missing them, she receives a letter shortly after. Merula keeps all of them bundled together underneath her bed.

Her parents don’t come back to celebrate, but her grandmother buys a cake and she’s allowed to have two slices after dinner. Later, she carefully pulls the crimson crest off the envelope and puts it by her mirror, right next to a picture of her parents.

_ See? I’m going to Hogwarts, _ she wants to tell them, but they aren’t there so she tells their smiling faces in the picture instead. _ Good on you, Merula. We’re so proud of you, _their photographs tell her, but she still wishes they were the real thing.

At Hogwarts, she will learn magic. At Hogwarts, she will hone the skills necessary to bring back You-Know-Who. 

When she tells her grandmother, she slaps Merula’s hand so hard she almost cries. (She doesn’t, though, because that would be so much worse.) 

_ Never mention that_, her grandmother hisses.

_ Okay, okay_, Merula answers, voice thick with unshed tears.

Her hand sports an angry welt for days after.

Days later, they go to Diagon Alley to buy her supplies. She starts practicing spells with her new wand the minute she gets home. Her mother taught her a lot of spells when she was younger, hand clasped around Merula’s as she guided her through the movements. _ Never use these outside, _ she’d warned. Merula understood why when her mother pointed her wand at an unsuspecting beetle—something flashed green—and the beetle was gone. _ Now you try_, she’d urged, and frowned when Merula was too scared.

They took her mother’s wand when she left, but now Merula has her own to practice with. She brings it everywhere she goes: to the dinner table, carefully set on her nightstand at bedtime. Other children had stuffed animals; Merula had her very first wand.

The day to board the Hogwart’s train comes soon. At the station, she stands next to her grandmother, nearly vibrating with excitement when she notices the other children staring at her.

Merula’s never been good with other kids her age. She’s always been awkward and curt so instead of smiling, she gives them a look instead. They stop looking at her, but that doesn’t stop them from murmuring. She strains to hear their conversations before her grandmother steers her away.

Most of the noise is indecipherable, but she does catch two words. It comes as a frightened whisper, familiar enough that Merula has heard it before in hushed tones, but still strange enough that she doesn’t know what it means.

_ Death Eater. _

The words slip from her mind when she’s about to board. Her grandmother takes her hand and squeezes once, looking Merula in the eye.

“We’re proud Slytherins, through and through,” she says, hands warm and eyes anything but. It’s supposed to be a reminder, but it comes out threatening, and all Merula can do is nod.

* * *

On the Hogwarts Express, Merula excitedly lugs her suitcase behind her, looking for a train car. She finds one occupied by another smaller, frightened looking boy.

“Hi,” she says in an attempt to be friendly, but it comes out as more of a sneer.

“H-hello,” he stutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m Merula.” He nods, staring at his empty lap. Annoyed at his lack of response, she stands up and gets in his face. “I’m Merula,” she repeats and he glances at her briefly, tense.

“I’m Ben,” he stammers. Merula huffs and looks around to see if there are any empty train cars, but there aren’t. She scowls at Ben, then gets an idea. 

Ben’s eyes go wide when he sees her wand. “What are you doing?” He asks, even more scared, if it were possible.

“Relax,” she says, and jinxes him. 

It’s a simple, ticklish jinx her dad used to tease her with. But Ben screams, startling her that her wand clutters to the floor. “You’re not supposed to use magic!” He says, the loudest his voice has been so far.

Bewildered, she turns to look at the door, where other students have gathered, peering through the window. They look at her, point, and she sees their mouths move.

_ Death eater._

* * *

A few days after arriving at Hogwarts, Merula hears it again.

“…death eater,” whispered by a group of passing students.

Merula doesn’t care that they’re older and bigger than her. She whips around, ready for confrontation. “What?” She demands when they look at her. “What are you talking about?”

They don’t seem malicious, but they look tall and intimidating. Baffled, they turn to each other before one of them speaks up.

“You’re Merula Snyde, aren’t you?”

Merula nods, hands clenching as she looks at them indignantly, sticking her chin out. She refuses to be scared, to show any weakness.

“Well, we were just saying,” a few of them have the decency to look embarrassed, “that your parents are death eaters.”

Merula blinks. She knows the term, but her grandmother has never explicitly mentioned ‘death eaters’, never even told her much about her parents. From their expressions, it doesn’t seem like a good thing. “What?” She says, hating how small her voice is. She wills her hands to stop shaking, but they don’t.

“Death eaters,” another student says with a spiteful edge. Merula’s eyes flicker to them. “People who worked for You-Know-Who.” 

“No, they didn’t,” Merula says, finally finding her voice.

“Yes, they did. They killed people and were put in Azkaban. Don’t you read _ The Daily Prophet__?”_ A girl says harshly. 

“What are you saying?” She asks with a shaky voice and sweaty hands. A memory resurfaces: flashes of green, a dead beetle, unfamiliar people writhing in a dark room.

_ She doesn’t know, _one of them says. Merula can only think of her mother’s smiling face, her father’s gentle hands as he tucked her into bed.

_ Not killers, not torturers_. 

A professor appears around the corner, and Merula looks at them, vision blurry and feeling frantic. 

“What are you lot doing?” She hears the professor say. Merula doesn’t wait for the rest. She turns and bolts straight for the dungeons, straight for her dorm where she can be alone with everything in her head.

She’s too busy willing her tears to disappear to look where she's going, and bumps straight into Ben.

“Merula!” He squeaks. Then he sees her face and his face smooths out with concern. “Are you okay?”

_ Death eater. _

She looks at Ben. Stupid, terrified Ben who is scared of everything but is pitying her_, _and in that moment, she hates him.

“_Shut up_,” she snarls viciously, forcefully pushing him away. Ben hits the floor as surrounding students crowd around them, gasping.

Then Merula says something terrible: a hurtful word she does know, does understand. It’s a word she’s heard her grandmother’s friends say, in soft tones when they think Merula isn’t listening.

“_Mudblood,” _she hisses, and stays just a second to see Ben’s eyes go wide and face go pale before she’s running again. She doesn’t stop to feel bad about what she’s said.

When she gets back to her dorm, she slams the door shut and grabs a spare quill and paper. Her hands are still shaking when she starts writing.

_ Is it true? Is what they said true? _She scrawls, words wobbly and messy. She finishes the letter but starts another because the first has tear stains on it. Her grandmother would never approve of that. She folds and shoves it into an envelope, and only then does she slow down to think about what she’s doing, cheeks wet with tears. Even if she went to the Owlery now, her grandmother wouldn’t write back immediately. She hasn’t written Merula once since school started. To add on, Merula doesn’t know what her grandmother would say. Merula doesn’t know what she wants her grandmother to say.

On her bedside, the framed picture of her parents smile at her. _ Is it true? Is what they said true? _She wants to ask. She can’t bear to hear the answer, so she turns the frame away instead.

* * *

The succeeding days are filled with frightened first years darting to stay out of her way. There is more whispering, and looks from students that Merula has never seen before. She scowls and ignores them for the most part, darting to class.

She is distinctly aware that Ben is following her, but she ignores him too. Maybe he’s looking for an apology that Merula is not courageous enough to give. Besides, she has nothing to apologize for.

_ We’re purebloods, Merula, _ her mother taught her. _ It means we’re better than half-bloods, and especially mudbloods. _

Maybe he’s pitying her, but she doesn’t need his misplaced pity. She doesn’t need pity at all. _ I’m better than Ben, _Merula tells herself. It doesn’t make her feel much better.

She waits patiently for an owl from her grandmother. It never comes, and after a few days, she stops hoping.

She sits alone in her classes, during dinner, but this doesn’t bother her. She doesn’t need distractions if she’s going to be the best witch at Hogwarts.

_ Not the daughter of death eaters; the most powerful witch at Hogwarts. _She repeats in her head, and it works.

Professor Snape compliments her potions during class. He nods to her in the hallway and she nods back, smothering her smile and feeling important. She avoids eye contact with the other students, however. They still whisper about the _ mudblood incident_. Merula tells herself it doesn’t matter.

* * *

It happens before potions. She’s waiting for class to start and hears her classmates talking quietly. She doesn’t pay much attention, before she hears one of them murmur: “Death eater?”

Merula whips around, eyes landing on the speaker, a dark-skinned girl dressed in blue robes. 

“_Rowen."_ A boy next to her hushes, strikingly similar looking.

“What did you say?” Merula sneers, stepping towards them.

Rowen has the decency to look embarrassed. “I—uh—” 

“She didn’t say anything,” the boy cuts her off. “Who are you?” 

Rowen goes a deeper shade of red. “_Rowan," _she whispers pleadingly as he looks at Merula.

_ Not a death eater’s daughter. _“Merula Snyde, the most powerful witch at Hogwarts,” she answers smugly, staring him down.

Rowen sputters. “That’s hardly possible, you can’t be the _ best_.”

People her age usually don’t disagree with her, and Merula is getting annoyed. “Yes, I can.” 

“No, you can’t,” says Rowan.

Merula is about to say _ yes, I can _before she stops herself. “I am. I’m stronger than any of you.” She takes out her wand and the students eyes’ widen.

“What are you doing?” Rowen says, her eyes the widest of them all.

Merula smiles. “Proving it,” she says. Then she points her wand straight at her. “_Flipendo! _” Rowen goes flying back, knocking into Rowan who tries to catch her but ends up going down too. It’s a jinx Merula knows well, one her mother taught her when she was younger. 

_ To prove others wrong, _she’d told Merula.

Merula turns to the other kids and they all back away. Rowen is surprisingly resilient, getting up and offering a hand to Rowan. 

“Admit it,” Merula says, gripping her wand. _ Not a death eater’s daughter. _ “Say I’m the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.” 

“You’re _ not_,” Rowen shrieks and Merula flinches at the sudden strength in her voice. “There’s Professor McGonacgall, Professor Flitwick, every seventh year, the _ headmaster _—”

“What’s going on?” A new voice demands, and Rowen shuts up abruptly. Everyone turns to see the new addition to the group. She’s standing there, books in hand, looking confused but also very indignant. “What’s going on, Rowen?” She asks again, before turning to look at the wand in Merula’s hand.

“Merula—she was saying—” Rowen stammers before her brother cuts in.

“She says she’s the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, but she’s just a first-year like us,” he says, giving Merula a level look.

Merula narrows her eyes. “I’m nothing like you,” she snarls before the new girl steps into her line of vision.

“I don’t know why the most powerful witch at Hogwarts would be bullying a first-year,” she pauses, then adds something that makes Merula’s blood boil. “Unless, you’re insecure.”

Merula balls her fists, ready to throw one of them if necessary. “Who are you?” She demands angrily, getting up in her face.

“(y/n),” she replies, fixing her with an equally fierce look.

Rowen pushes her way over. “If anyone can claim to be the most powerful, it’s (y/n). Flitwick says she cast the best _ Lumos _ out of all the first years.”

It’s bad enough that two people are questioning her, but now there are _ three_. “Yeah?” Merula brings up her wand again. “_Lumos this_.” The second time she casts _Flipendo_, it’s much stronger than the first, and (y/n) goes flying back. Merula marches up to her, reveling in the shocked look on her face. “We’ll see who's strongest,” she sneers.

(y/n) shakes the surprise off her face and she opens her mouth to say something, but then Snape comes around the corner, looking annoyed, and ushers everyone into the classroom.

* * *

Merula stays up thinking about it for days after, tossing and turning in bed. _ I’m not insecure, _ she tells herself furiously. _ I have no reason to be. _ Who cares what Professor Flitwick said? _ Lumos _ isn’t the only important spell. Merula bets that (y/n) doesn’t even know _ Flipendo_.

But, to make sure there’s no room for argument, Merula spends hours practicing _ Lumos_.

After their scuffle, Merula was delighted to see that (y/n) wasn’t very skilled at potions. Snape yelled at her quite a lot. She’d gotten a front row seat because they’d been sitting next to each other.

Merula sees her walking down the corridor with Ben that afternoon. Ben shrinks back, edging away, but (y/n) doesn’t even look at Merula. Merula stares, expecting some type of acknowledgement but gets none, as the two of them disappear around the corner.

_ She thinks I’m a joke. _ Merula grits her teeth. _ I’ll show her who’s a joke._

* * *

Merula smiles at the letter she forged. It’s in Snape’s handwriting, and asks for (y/n) to report to a secluded corridor.

She slips it in (y/n)’s robes during potions class and waits, spending an hour waiting outside the room before (y/n) shows up with Rowan in tow. Merula wasn’t counting on her bringing company, but it doesn’t matter.

They both disappear inside, and Merula shuts the door, locking it tight. She presses her ear up to the door and hears the two of them shuffling around in confusion.

(y/n)’s voice is muffled through the door. “What is that thing?”

Merula grins, reveling in the fear in her voice. “Devil’s snare,” she says through the keyhole. There’s an indignant yelp as she continues. “It’s sensitive to light. If you’re really the best at _ Lumos_, you should be able to handle it no problem.”

There’s a loud bang on the door. “Merula! You locked us in here?” 

There’s more banging, and Merula steps back. “I sent you that letter from Snape, too. I told you not to mess with me, (l/n).” 

“Stop joking around, Merula. Let us out!” There’s a desperate edge in the tone, but Merula doesn’t pause to feel guilty. She walks away, deciding to check on them in an hour. If they haven’t made it out by then, she’ll call a professor for help.

* * *

She finds herself thinking about it more than she’d like to. An hour passes, and she goes back to hear them still struggling. If (y/n) is as good at _ Lumos _ as Rowen claimed her to be, then she shouldn’t die. She wasn’t going to kill (y/n) anyways, just scare her. Merula isn’t a murderer like her parents.

No one else has heard or helped them. She bumps into Rowen as she walks back to the dungeons. 

“Where’s your brother?” Merula asks, even though she knows very well where he is.

Rowen gives her a bewildered look. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Have you seen him?”

Merula shrugs. “I think I saw him walking in the hallway near the Gryffindor tower.”

Rowen doesn’t question her and runs off.

If (y/n) hasn’t escaped the devil’s snare yet, then Merula supposes she’ll let herself off this once.

She sees (y/n) later, robes tattered, forehead creased with anger. Even though Merula doesn’t want to be, she’s secretly relieved that she got out.

_ She should be grateful. I saved her. _Merula tells the anxious rolling in her gut.

Still, there’s another voice that tells her: _ you put her there in the first place._

* * *

When Merula enters the courtyard, it’s fairly quiet. In the corner, she spots Rowen and (y/n) playing gobstones, both of their legs criss-crossed. Rowen looks up and meets Merula’s eyes, averting them quickly, before whispering something to (y/n).

Merula’s already looking at her when (y/n) turns around, unblinking. She only looks at Merula for a second, before returning to the game as if she hadn’t seen her at all.

Merula narrows her eyes and stomps forward, boots stopping an inch from (y/n)’s knee. Rowen looks up at her nervously, but (y/n) rolls a marble—_ knowing _ Merula is right there—and plays her turn.

“Your turn, Rowen,” she says nonchalantly.

The gobstones scatter as Merula gives them a good kick. 

“Hey!” Rowen protests, running after them. 

Finally, (y/n) turns and looks at her. Her eyes are angry, hands balled up in her lap, but she still doesn’t say anything as she stands up.

“Isn’t this precious?” Merula sneers. “While you two were playing gobstones, I was doing research on your brother.” 

“Why don’t you leave us alone?”

“Because you’re dangerous, just like your brother.” Her words have no other purpose than to be hurtful, to get (y/n)’s attention, and it works.

Rowen is back now, hands full with gobstones. “What?” She turns to (y/n). “What does she mean?”

“(l/n)’s brother was expelled, went missing, and then started working for Voldemort.” Merula doesn’t know if it’s all true, but it angers both of them.

“It’s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” Rowen exclaims.

“My brother has nothing to do with Voldemort!” (y/n) says indignantly.

Merula grins. “That’s why the professors were talking about you at the feast. Because—”

(y/n) doesn’t wait for Merula to finish. “What about you, Merula? Your parents are in Azkaban for being death eaters.”

Something in her stomach twists, sharp and churning, and Merula clenches her fists. “Shut up." She doesn't know what else to say.

“They tortured aurors for information, and were sentenced—” (y/n) continues.

“_Y__ou don’t know anything_,” Merula snarls with a cutting edge. _I’m_ _not a death eater’s daughter. _“Why don’t you go missing just like your brother? Nobody wants you here.” 

“You just hate that I’m better than you.” 

Merula pulls out her wand. “Yeah? Then duel me. We’ll see who’s _ better._” She wills her shaking hand to stop.

(y/n) doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t need to duel you to know I’m better than you.” She turns to leave, Rowen following, and Merula sees _ red_.

“_Flipendo!” _She shouts, and (y/n) is knocked forward, hitting the ground on her knees. “Not so much better now, are you?” She gives a stray gobstone a vicious kick as she storms off, refusing to look back.

* * *

Ben proves to be much more annoying than Merula initially thought. He follows her constantly and at first, she’d thought he wanted an apology or confrontation, but all he’s done is stay poorly hidden in the shadows.

One day, she gets fed up with it and waits around the corner for him.

Ben turns, looking nervous, and actually screams when he’s greeted with Merula’s glare.

“What do you _ want? _” Merula snaps.

“N-nothing,” he stammers.

“Then stop_ following _ me.” 

Ben has gone ghostly white, but Merula refuses to back off. She’s about to shove herself around him when someone tugs Ben away.

Merula half expects it to be (y/n) who is always saving someone—the stupid attention hogger—but it’s someone else she vaguely recognizes.

“Come on, Ben,” the girl says. 

Merula recalls that she's a disgustingly pretty Hufflepuff called Penny Haywood. Usually, there's a horde of girls squealing around her, but today she's alone. Merula’s dislike for her is so instant that there’s a bitter edge on her tongue as Penny pulls Ben behind her.

From the look on the Penny’s face, the sentiment is mutual. “We’re late for potions,” she says evenly, fixing Merula with a long, cold look.

Merula’s speechless, and before she can say something spiteful, Penny has dragged Ben away with her. She narrows her eyes after them and stalks off to her next class.

* * *

She confronts a terrified-looking Ben in the courtyard when he’s alone. This time Merula has an audience, and she’s hoping if she calls him out, he’ll stop following her for good.

“What do you want Ben? To fight me?” She presses.

Ben turns a sickly green, looking as if fighting Merula would be the last thing he’d want to do. “No, I don’t,” he stammers, searching the crowd for someone to help, but no one steps forward.

“Because you’re a coward,” Merula spits out. A crowd of students have started to gather around them, first and second years, no prefect in sight. Towards the back, Merula spots a wide-eyed Rowan pushing his way forward with his sister.

“L-leave me alone, Merula,” Ben chokes out, unable to meet her eyes.

She almost snorts at the absurdity of it. Maybe she’d leave him alone if he’d stop _ following _ her. “You’re an embarrassment to Hogwarts,” she watches his face fall as she pulls out her wand. Ben doesn’t look like he could handle _ Flipendo_. “You want a fight? You couldn’t handle it, _ mudblood_,” she sneers derisively, and there are gasps in the growing crowd.

There’s a movement in her peripheral vision, and of course (y/n) pushes her way to the front and steps in front of Ben, materializing out of nowhere. She has her wand ready, eyebrows knit together in anger.

“If you want a fight, then fight me,” she says, eyes blazing.

“You never learn, do you?” Merula points her wand at (y/n)’s chest. “You should just go missing with your brother.” 

“I don’t want to fight you, Merula.” (y/n)’s voice is level, but Merula can see her hand shaking.

“Too bad,” Merula says. _ Flipendo, _she thinks, the spell already on her lips.

But (y/n) beats her to it. “_Rictusempra! _”

She’s hit with an unwanted bout of laughter, and Merula draws her wand back, stifling her giggles. “You’re going,” she’s cut off by a hysterical giggle, “to have to do better than_ that_.” 

It’s not a quick duel, and at first Merula is winning, gaining ground. But then she’s starting to get tired, (y/n) is breathing heavy but still standing, and Merula has the terrifying thought that she might lose.

_ I can’t lose. _

But she does. 

Her head is ringing when (y/n) draws her wand back and shouts ‘_Expelliarmus!’, _and Merula’s wand goes skittering across the courtyard.

There’s silence as the students stare at them. Merula’s wand lies far from her reach. Someone is stupid enough to start clapping but stops when no one joins them.

“You lost, Merula,” (y/n) says, breaking the quiet. “Apologize to Ben and promise to stop bullying everyone.” 

Merula is still staring at her wand. _ She used _ Expelliarmus_, that’s a third-year spell. _ “That’s not fair. You’re not supposed to know _ Expelliarmus_.”

“You’re not supposed to know _ Flipendo _ either, and that didn’t stop you,” (y/n) retorts. Merula’s mouth twists into a scowl, all her fury, resentment and hatred combined into a single look.

(y/n) doesn’t even flinch.

“Apologize,” she demands. The entire courtyard is silent.

Beneath that calm exterior, Merula can see the triumph lining her posture, the way she’s straightened in front of the crowd. The other students have started to whisper, and the humiliation that she’s feeling is too much. _ You’re not better than me. _ “I’m never going to apologize to a _ mudblood_,” she seethes. “I’m the greatest witch at Hogwarts. I’m better than you. I do what I want _ when I want to _—”

“Ahem.”

Merula whirls around, her tirade cut off and forgotten. She looks up to see Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick close behind. There’s a reproachful glint in Snape’s eyes directed at (y/n).

“Professor Snape—” (y/n) starts, but he silences her with a hand.

“I don’t doubt this is your fault, (l/n). Hogwarts has a strict duelling policy,” he drawls. 

(y/n) gives Merula a furious look. “I was defending my friend.”

Merula cuts in when Professor Flitwick looks at her. “She hit me first,” she blurts out, a jumbled mess. In the background, she hears Rowan sputter in protest.

Professor Flitwick turns his disapproving gaze to (y/n). “Did you cast the first spell, miss (l/n)?”

(y/n) hasn’t stopped glaring at her. “I did,” she admits, “but only because Merula was bullying Ben.”

Snape doesn’t bother letting her finish. “You miraculously know the disarming charm? A likely story. See me in my office.” He turns around and leaves, Flitwick following.

Rowen and Rowan crowd around (y/n), Ben following closely behind. “It’s okay, (y/n),” they say. “We’ll tell Professor Flitwick what happened. He’ll believe us.”

Merula sneers at them and doesn’t wait for the crowd to disperse. She grabs her wand, pushing a first-year Ravenclaw out of her way, and storms back to her dorm.

* * *

Annoyingly, Merula has barely returned to her dorm when Felix, her prefect, comes searching for her.

“Professor Snape is asking for you,” he says, frowning.

“Okay.” She starts to leave, but he stops her.

“Were you duelling without permission?”

“She hit me first,” Merula repeats, avoiding his eyes. “Are you going to take away house points?”

Felix sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “No, but the next time you break the rules I’ll have to.” He hesitates to say something. “Merula, I know this isn’t what you want to hear—”

“Then don’t tell me.” 

Felix raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” she says quickly.

“—but you should avoid antagonizing others. Slytherins have a bad reputation no matter their intentions. It’s because we were on the wrong side of the war.”

Merula restrains herself from rolling her eyes. She’s not in the mood for a history lesson.

“People outside of our house naturally dislike us. We can’t do anything about their mistrust, but you shouldn’t give the other students any more reason to dislike you. You’re not just hurting your own reputation, but the Slytherin reputation in general.” Felix’s voice isn’t reprimanding but genuine, and Merula glances at him.

_ So? _She wants to say. _ I don’t care what other people think. _She holds her tongue, however, because even though her parents didn’t have enough time to teach her everything, they taught her to respect those older than her.

He seems to be waiting for an answer, but Merula doesn’t know what he wants to hear.

“Okay,” she mumbles, and hurries off.

* * *

When Merula nears the Gryffindor tower, she sees (y/n) talking to Penny Haywood. She’s still thinking about the humiliation, the shock of losing, so she doesn’t step forward. She doesn’t want to see (y/n) gloating.

They seem to be finishing their conversation, and Penny flashes all her teeth in a wide smile, a stark contrast to the withering look she'd given Merula days before. “Thank you, (y/n). I’ll see you around.”

Merula’s scowl deepens when (y/n) smiles back. She steps forward when Professor Snape appears, looking sullen.

“Unauthorized duelling is forbidden at Hogwarts,” he sneers. “If I were in charge, you would be expelled.” Merula tries not to smile as (y/n) pales. _ Just like your brother, _she wants to whisper, but she doesn't because Snape is right there. 

“However,” he continues, “the headmaster believes that is not proper punishment. I will be taking twenty points from your house, but next time you can be sure it will be much more severe.” 

(y/n) nods. “I understand, Professor.”

Snape opens his mouth to say something else, but then Filch comes rushing over. He leaves with one last vicious look directed at (y/n), and Merula hears Filch say ‘cursed’ right before they disappear behind a mysterious-looking door.

Merula jolts at the word. Before she’d boarded the Hogwarts Express, she’d spent hours researching the vaults and the treasures in them. They’re rumored to have powers necessary to bring back Voldemort: secret spells and ingredients hidden in them, and she forgets her hatred for (y/n) only momentarily.

“They’re talking about the vaults!” She whispers excitedly.

(y/n) blinks and, to Merula’s annoyance, follows her when Merula sets off after them.

The door makes a creaking sound when Merula opens it, but Snape and Filch don’t notice. She’s small enough to hide behind a thin column, but then (y/n) presses up behind her and Merula hisses at her.

“_Stop touching me,_” she says as quietly as she can.

“_There's no room,_” (y/n) whispers back.

Their arms are pressed up together, and Merula’s cheek is squished against (y/n)’s shoulder. It’s not comfortable at all.

“_What are they talking about? _” (y/n) cranes her neck in an attempt to see.

“_Maybe I’d know if you’d shut up,_” Merula hisses.

To her surprise, she does shut up, and Merula can finally make out what Snape is telling Filch. 

“Make sure no one gets into the vault. Until further investigation, we don’t know what’s in there.”

“Is it true?” Says Filch’s scratchy voice. “That the vault’s hold an unlimited amount of treasure?”

“Don’t worry about that. Worry about keeping students away.”

The footsteps get closer, and Merula and (y/n) turn to each other, eyes wide. They know the consequences of getting caught, and the door is too far for them to make an escape.

(y/n) grabs Merula and pushes her up against the wall, covering her from view. Merula’s squeak of protest is swallowed by the fabric of her robes.

“_Shh! _”

Merula hears the footsteps quieting as the door creaks. There’s a click as it shuts, and Merula pushes (y/n) off her, sending her stumbling.

“Don’t _ touch _ me,” she snaps, flushed to the roots of her hair.

(y/n) doesn’t look angry like Merula expected her to be. “You’re not thinking of entering the vault, right? It’s dangerous,” she says, eyebrows knitted together.

Merula sneers at (y/n)’s fake concern. “Of course not.” Frankly, she’s a little offended. “I’m not stupid like you_._” 

She shoulders her way to the door and leaves. This time, (y/n) doesn’t follow.

* * *

She stays up thinking about the duel and the vault for hours. 

Ismelda, a quiet girl she doesn’t know well, is sound asleep in the bed next to her. Merula tries to blame her restlessness on adrenaline, on Ismelda’s snoring, but it’s pointless to say (y/n)’s not the reason.

There’s a painful burn in her gut every time she thinks about her wand skidding across the floor, _ Expelliarmus _ ringing in her head. _ This doesn’t mean I’m weaker, _she tells herself fiercely, but the words whispered in the hallways speak differently. The following days, whenever Merula walks down the corridor, someone is talking about their duel. Be it first-years or upperclassmen, (y/n)’s name always follows shortly after hers.

Merula refuses to put her head down whenever someone mentions the duel.

_ I’m the greatest witch at Hogwarts, _she insists in her head.

_ (y/n)’s better, _murmur a group of passing students.

Merula starts thinking about her more and more. It’s not an obsession, but the need to beat her is almost all-consuming. She spends her free periods studying dueling techniques, flipping through numerous books in the library. She doesn’t know that her hatred is thinly veiled admiration, that this animosity is the beginning of something stronger. She is too young to understand sentimental feelings, and too young to think of herself as anyone else but a death eater’s daughter. She isn’t scared of confronting (y/n), but even then, she ducks corners and slips between passages when she sees her coming. _ I’ll catch her off guard, _she thinks, but never does.

As Merula grows more isolated and more bent on defeating her, (y/n)’s friend group seems to grow. Now, Penny Haywood is part of it. Ben Copper no longer follows Merula around but starts trailing (y/n) in plain view. One of the Khanna twins is always next to her. Merula never has a chance to get close.

A few weeks later, (y/n) tries to talk to her. Maybe she feels bad for Merula who seems to be the brunt of multiple duelling jokes. In retaliation, Merula grabs her wrist and _ twists_, getting up in her face.

“Leave me alone,” she threatens.

(y/n)’s eyes harden, and they ignore each other after that.

She doesn’t want to be (y/n)’s friend, but her attitude makes Merula’s blood boil. The months pass quickly, and soon it’s nearing December. Merula hasn’t truly spoken to (y/n) since the day of the duel. She calls her names in the hallways, messes with her during her classes, but (y/n) seems to be just as resigned as Merula is.

Merula doesn’t need her acknowledgement—she’s strong enough on her own. She learns another nickname: cursed child. Out of the things Merula has used, this one seems to hurt the most. She whispers it in class, in the hallways, and (y/n) turns, furious for a brief moment—but always leaves without a word, and Merula is left alone again.

* * *

As Christmas nears, it seems like everyone at Hogwarts is excited about something. For once, Merula isn’t annoyed because she’s excited too. She’s headed home to spend the holidays. This is the first Christmas without her parents, but she hopes the presents will make up for it. Maybe a songbook will be one of them. She’s been writing short tunes on stray pieces of parchment, but what she really wants is an organized book. 

Merula already has her things packed. Her suitcase is lying back in her dorm, stuffed with clothes and books that she wants to show off. She’d received high marks in all of her classes, and she can hardly wait to show her grandmother everything she’s learned. The Great Hall is noticeably empty. Most of the students have left for home and Merula will be one of the last to leave. She couldn’t wait to come to Hogwarts at first, but now all she wants to do is leave. She likes her classes, but she can’t imagine spending her winter break here. There would be no one to spend it with. Only a few students are staying behind, (y/n) included. Merula had almost felt sorry for her before she heard that (y/n)’s friends decided to stay behind, too.

Merula already made a list of all the spells she’s learned and practiced them. When she was too giddy with excitement, she’d sit alone in her dorm and practice the snow-making spell her mother had taught her. It won’t be the same without her, but the sentiment will be.

A flurry of owls arrives with the morning post, and one drops a small envelope in front of her. Merula blinks at it and recognizes her grandmother’s careful script. It’s the first letter she’s sent to Merula since she started at Hogwarts.

Maybe it’s an early present, she thinks, picking it up eagerly. She pulls the parchment out of the envelope and reads:

_ Merula, _

_ Your grandfather has been hospitalized at St. Mungo’s and will need to stay there during the holidays. I will be accompanying him while he recovers. I think it is best that you remain at Hogwarts and spend the holidays with your friends. _

_ Sevilla Snyde _

For a minute, Merula just blinks at the letter. It must be some sort of joke, she thinks, turning it around. Any minute, another envelope will arrive telling her it was just a joke. Or maybe there’s invisible ink on the back that Merula needs to decode. Almost frantically, she flips the parchment around, over and over, searching for a sign that her grandmother isn’t serious.

She finds nothing.

_ Your grandfather has been hospitalized. _

Worry tightens her gut, and she doesn’t feel hungry anymore.

_ …while he recovers. _

That must mean he’s alright, that he’s staying at the hospital to rest. She’s never been close with her grandfather, but she can’t imagine him dying so soon.

_ I think it is best that you remain at Hogwarts and spend the holidays with your friends. _

She reads the words again, feeling stupid for being so excited. There isn’t a present inside, or even a _ Happy Christmas _. There’s only a letter that her grandmother probably spent two minutes writing.

Unknowingly, Merula’s eyes start to burn with unshed tears. She furiously wipes them away, making sure no one saw, before crumpling the paper in her fist. _ Powerful witches don’t cry, _she tells herself fiercely, relieved when the tears abate. She’ll have to tell the professors that she’ll be staying. She glances over at (y/n)’s table and sees her friends crowded around her. They’re not going home either, but it doesn’t seem to bother them.

Now that there’s no promise of Christmas presents, eggnog and glittering Christmas trees, Merula’s can’t bear one more minute in the cheerful atmosphere of the Great Hall. She gets up, feeling shaky, and leaves. Nobody notices.

* * *

She doesn’t leave her room often after that. She’d passed (y/n) having a snowball fight with her friends on the training ground a few days ago, and had hurried past. Dumbledore had been nice enough when she delivered the news. “The more the merrier!” He’d said cheerfully while Merula glowered at the floor. (y/n) and her friends know she’s staying. Merula is the only first-year Slytherin staying behind. The dining table seems impossibly wide, the food stacked sickeningly high. 

The last few days of December, she sneaks to the Great Hall when dinner is about to end and quickly eats. She keeps her head up high when she passes (y/n)’s table, but (y/n) doesn’t even look at her.

She gets another letter before the clock strikes twelve on Christmas eve. Merula eagerly tears it open when she sees it’s from her grandmother. Across the Great Hall, Penny Haywood is talking about a present exchange, her stupid braids glinting in the candlelight.

In the envelope is a poorly embellished card. When she opens it, two galleons fall out. 

_ Your grandfather is recovering well. We didn’t have enough time to buy you presents this year. Spend the money wisely. _

_ Happy Christmas. _

She turns the card around dejectedly, expecting nothing and getting nothing. The two galleons glint in her palm, the quiet buzz of the Great Hall punctuated by occasional laughter from (y/n) and her friends.

The songbook she wanted was three galleons and two sickles, last she checked. She shoves the money in her pocket and gets up. Across the Hall, the laughter quiets.

Her eyes start to burn as she makes her way back to the Slytherin common room. The galleons in her pocket clink as she stomps down to the dungeons.

Peeves swoops down the corridor. “Miss Snyde's all alone! Miss Snyde’s got no home!” He chortles.

“_Shove off, Peeves_,” Merula snaps, ashamed at the break in her voice. She slams the Slytherin door behind her with a loud bang.

She flings the galleons on her bed, her suitcase still packed. For a second, she stands there, trying to blink back her tears.

_ Powerful witches don’t cry. _

She repeats it even as her throat closes up and the pounding in her ears hurts her head.

_ Powerful witches probably get presents for Christmas. Powerful witches don’t have parents in Azkaban. _

She wills herself to stop thinking, screwing her eyes shut. (y/n) flashes in her mind, bright, smiling.

_ Powerful witches have friends. _

The sound in her throat builds, the tears start rolling, and Merula buries her face in her pillow with a wet sob.

* * *

On Christmas day, Merula is forced into the Dining Hall by the professors. She glares at a cheerful looking snowman that tips his silly fedora at her, surrounded by streamers and garlands all over the tables. Glitter sparkles on the benches.

Merula sits at the Slytherin table and focuses on a hole in the table. She looks up when Hagrid, the schools humongous grounds-keeper, walks over to her. 

“Happy Christmas, Merula,” he says, smiling cheerfully. “Have a rock cake,” He sets the platter on the table with a heavy thud, “made ‘em myself.” 

Merula’s never spoken to him before, and she wonders how he knows her name. She stares at the huge lump resting on the plate. If it even counts, this is the first present she’s received. She glances at a nervous-looking Hagrid before breaking off a piece. It takes a considerable amount of effort, and she tentatively bites into it.

It’s sweet and _ hard_. Merula grimaces as the distinct taste of dirt fills her mouth. 

Hagrid is beaming at her. “Baked ‘em from scratch.”

Merula winces at a loud cracking sound as she chews. “Er, thanks,” she manages through a mouthful of what feels like actual rock.

He lumbers off and Merula stares at his retreating figure. His cooking is terrible, but maybe she misjudged Hagrid. 

She quickly goes back to observing the table when she sees Charlie Weasley, an extremely freckled Gryffindor. His arms are stacked with brightly wrapped packages. His brother, Bill, and the rest of their friends follow closely behind. Each of them are carrying presents topped with colorful bows. Merula scowls at the table and considers eating another piece of the rock cake. Then she thinks about the unpleasant crunch and decides not to.

She hears the sound of ripped paper, exclamations of ‘you didn’t!’, ‘how did you know I wanted this?’, and all Merula wants to do is disappear. She gags when Penny squeals with delight, unwrapping a pristine potions kit.

Merula doesn’t care, she has a much better one at home.

(y/n) is looking at her when she looks up, and Merula glares at her when she starts walking over. There’s a thin present in her hands.

“Hey,” (y/n) says.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” Merula answers.

“Yeah, well. It’s Christmas.” She tosses the package at Merula who catches it. “Open it.”

Merula is surprised, to say the least. She turns it over incredulously, unable to keep the scowl on her face. “You actually got me something?” When (y/n) doesn’t answer, she carefully tears the package open.

She recognizes the exact songbook she wanted, the one she’d been admiring in passing window displays. She quickly smothers her smile. “How’d you know I wanted this?”

(y/n) shrugs. “Peeves helped me out.”

“Peeves helped _ you? _” She asks, more rudely than she meant to.

(y/n) doesn’t seem offended. “Turns out he’s got a soft-spot for you.”

Merula feels the smooth cover, the weight of it in her hands, and she can’t stop herself from smiling. It’s not from her grandmother; her parents are still in Azkaban; no one else got her a present—but it’s what she wanted.

“Thanks, (y/n),” she says quietly, not trusting her voice to be steady if she's louder, and presses the book to her chest. “Happy Christmas.”

(y/n) seems taken aback for a moment, before she grins back. “Happy Christmas, Merula.”

She does leave Merula alone after that, but if she notices Merula awkwardly trailing her back to the table, she doesn’t mention it. Penny and Rowan don’t even glower at her when she nears the table, maybe because Ben isn’t around, or they must be feeling particularly festive.

(y/n) gets a picture frame with a photo of the entire group minus Merula. She wasn’t expecting to be in the picture anyway. 

Nobody asks her to sit down, but nobody tells her to leave either.

* * *

When the holidays are over, when all the students have returned, they go back to ignoring each other.

But even then, she constantly hears about (y/n) and her exploits. There are hardly any secrets in Hogwarts, and word travels fast. 

Merula sits in the common room, surrounded by the buzz of the other Slytherins. She’s trying to concentrate on her charms work, but the students keep chattering aimlessly, and Merula is about to leave before she catches (y/n)’s name.

She stills, quill in her hand, and strains to hear.

“She found a cursed vault…” a fifth year murmurs, and Merula’s head snaps up.

If anything, it was Merula who found the cursed vault’s entrance. She was the one who followed Filch and Snape. If not for her, (y/n) wouldn’t have even followed.

She bristles when they continue talking. 

“She just wants the attention,” says a third-year girl, the disdain evident in her voice.

“Or because of her brother. He went mad looking for them, didn’t he?” 

“You’d think she’d know better.”

“I don’t know. If my brother disappeared in the vaults, I’d want to look for him, too.”

They notice Merula looking at them, and one of them sneers. Merula colors, jutting out her chin adamantly in a gesture that says ‘_s__o? _’ They exchange a look and hunch closer together, words muted. It’s clear that Merula is an annoyance.

Merula gathers her books and leaves, making her way to the dorms when Felix intercepts her. He’s been irritatingly kind to Merula after the holidays, especially when he’d heard that she’d stayed at Hogwarts alone.

“Merula,” he greets without a smile, as serious as ever, “how’re you doing?”

“Good,” she mutters, trying to walk around him, but he stops her.

“Lose any house points?” He asks, and there’s a touch of concern in his tone. 

_Leave me alone, _Merula wants to snap, but refrains because Felix has been nothing but nice to her. “No,” she grunts again. Snape lets her get away with a lot of things.

The previous group of students walk around them, and Merula glances at them through her hair. She must not be very discreet, because Felix follows her line of sight, brow furrowing when he hears them mention (y/n).

“Merula,” he starts in that tone he uses whenever he’s trying to teach her another life lesson, “I know you’re interested in the cursed vaults, and,” he hesitates, “...(y/n), but you should leave this to the teachers. It’s too dangerous for you to get involved.”

Merula bristles. “I’m not interested in (y/n).”

“I’m more worried whether or not you’re interested in the vaults,” Felix amends.

“I’m not.” 

Felix must see through it, because his eyes harden, shoulders going rigid. “I mean it, Merula. They’re dangerous and you couldn’t handle it.”

This time, Merula’s the one who stiffens. “_Okay_,” she says, the word too forced to sound casual. When she shoulders past Felix, he doesn’t stop her.

_I’ll show him, _she fumes. What does he know? He’s not even that much older than her. _I’ll show him. _(y/n)’s concerned look fills her head and Merula grits her teeth. _I’ll show her._

* * *

She spends the next few days trailing after (y/n) and her group of idiots. They hunch over piles of books in the library, whisper in the courtyard, but none of them catch Merula following them. At first, it doesn’t seem like they know much, that they’re just blindly pointing and shooting, hoping to hit a target. 

Merula’s been searching herself, in the same corridor where she eavesdropped on Snape and Filch, but has found nothing. The door at the end of the corridor won’t open for her.

As it turns out, (y/n) finds a way through. It’s late at night, almost curfew, and Merula finds herself following (y/n) and Rowan. It seems they’re the only ones brave enough to have gone.

The door is creaking, and Merula is hidden behind a column when she hears “_Alohomora," _and watches as the large doors open. Quietly, she comes up behind them, brandishing her wand.

Rowen turns, and his eyes widen, mouth opening. “Watch ou—” He warns, hand reaching to cover (y/n), but Merula is so much faster.

“_Flipendo!” _He’s knocked back, and before (y/n) can pull out her wand, Merula hits her, too.

They both collapse on the floor, groaning. 

“You’re so stupid, (y/n),” she sneers. “You didn’t even have anyone keep watch.” Rowan rolls over, clutching his wand arm. He’d gone down on it when Merula hit him. “I didn’t know how to get in myself, but it looks like you’ve done all the work for me.” 

“You’re despicable,” Rowan spits, furious.

She glances at the door, at the faint blue light emanating from it, and feels something nervous build in her throat. “Guess the cursed vault is mine,” she says.

“Don’t go in there Merula. You don’t know what to expect,” (y/n) says, words eerily similar to Felix’s, and Merula clenches her fist.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She pushes her way through the doors, and is hit with a blast of cold. 

It’s so much different from what she imagined, and her first thought is: _ this can’t be the cursed vault. _There’s no treasure, nothing fancy or valuable-looking. There’s only ice and more ice, crawling up the walls, across the floor, and that’s when Merula notices how fast it’s spreading. 

Rowan and (y/n) enter just as the ice reaches Merula’s feet, making its way up her legs, around her waist, until it’s almost up to her chest. It’s _ cold. _She’s never felt anything so chilling, numbing fast. The ice seems to carpet itself across the entire room, enveloping the hinges of the only way out. It traps Rowan and freezes him, too.

(y/n) is sharp enough to realize what’s going on, darting around and avoiding it narrowly. 

“I-it’s _ice_,” Rowan stammers, teeth chattering. “I can’t b-break free.”

Merula can’t even form words, the fear clogging her throat. The ice is steadily crawling upward. Her eyes meet (y/n)’s, who is stunned frozen.

“(y/n), you have to b-break—” Rowan’s breath comes out as a cloud, “the i-ice.”

(y/n) shapes herself out of her stupor, and casts _ Flipendo. _The ice shatters. Merula is too scared to even question where she learned the spell from.

“We have to go,” she says, helping Rowan up. They both turn to look at Merula.

_ They aren’t going to leave me here. They can’t. _

Except they can. Merula left them with the Devil’s Snare and they all know it. 

“H-help me,” Merula pleads, pride gone. She can’t die here.

Rowan’s eyes are hard as stone, eyebrows pinched together in anger. “Now you know how it feels.” His voice is still clipped from the cold. (y/n) stands next to him, posture wary and face unreadable, lips pressed tightly together.

“Shut u-up,” she says, but it comes out frail and weak, “get m-me _ out_.”

Her heart sinks when Rowan turns to go, but (y/n) stops him. “We can’t leave her here.” 

Rowan’s eyes go wide. “She left us. Don’t you remember? We could have died.”

(y/n) is still looking at her. “So could she.” 

The ice is crawling up her neck now, her breathing shallow.

“She would leave you, (y/n). She doesn’t deserve your help,” Rowan reminds her.

But (y/n) lifts her wand, voice strong when she shouts “_Flipendo!” _

It hits Merula like a wall and her back slams onto the floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. Her head is reeling too much for her to wonder where she learned _Flipendo _from.

As if the pained cry she let out wasn’t indicative enough, Rowan scoffs.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Merula’s shivering too hard to retort.

“Come on, we have to go.” (y/n) opens the door, and Rowan gives Merula one last contemptuous look before leaving.

(y/n) doesn’t help her up, but she waits for Merula to stand.

She’s still shivering when they’re outside, but Rowan is chattering away as if he’d never been cold at all. “I think the ice was from the cursed vault, which means it had to come from another opening, and we’re one step closer. There was a message on the wall, too, I think it might be another clue.”

“Do you remember what it was?” (y/n) asks, looking back at the door.

Rowan glances at Merula, voice hushed. “I’ll tell you later.”

Merula scoffs, the feeling returning to her fingers. They both turn to look at her. “Whatever. I’ll find the real cursed vaults by myself.” She pushes her way between them, stalking away.

“She could have thanked you.” She hears Rowan say, and slams the door a little too loudly as she leaves.

She could have. 

_ I don’t owe her anything. _

She could have. 

_ I don’t. _

_ She saved your life, _a voice says.

_ She could have thanked you. _Rowan’s voice rings in her head.

She should have.

* * *

Tulip Karasu introduces herself in the courtyard. Merula doesn’t know her well because she never left much of an impression. She has a forgettable face, but her bright red hair speaks differently.

“Hey, you’re Merula Snyde, aren’t you?” She says.

Merula scowls back. “What do you want?”

Tulip grins. “Is it true you entered one of the cursed vaults?” Word has traveled fast, and almost all the students have been whispering about sentient ice, spreading and intent on killing. Merula doesn’t answer, and Tulip takes that as a yes. “What’d you see inside? Was their treasure?”

Every time Merula hears about the ice, all she can think about is the cold seeping through her robes, the cold look in Rowan’s eyes, the cold in her gut at the thought of being left for dead, and she doesn't want to talk about it. She'd like nothing more than to be left alone, but Tulip doesn’t seem to take her silence as a hint—she stands there and waits for Merula’s answer.

“Why don’t you ask (y/n)?” She finally says icily. Because isn’t that what everyone has been doing? No one can resist asking her questions about the vaults, whether or not she was scared. Some of the second and third-year girls have even asked her about working with Bill Weasley, who apparently started talking to her recently. Merula rolls her eyes every time she hears about it. He’s not even that good-looking.

Tulip shrugs, leaning back. “I don’t know. You’re more interesting,” Merula looks up, “and besides, (y/n) seems like such a goodie-two-shoes. You don’t care about rules.” 

Merula scrutinizes her for a minute, before scooting over so Tulip can sit down. “What do you want to know?”

Tulip sits down, excited. “_Everything. _ Was there treasure? How’d you get in?”

She doesn’t like how fast Tulip asks questions, but her curiosity is slightly heart-warming, so she answers every one.

Tulip might be her first friend.

_ See? _She wants to tell (y/n). _ I have friends, too. _

But somehow, that makes it seem sadder. So when (y/n) passes her in the hallway, Merula says nothing at all.

* * *

They’re huddled together, murmuring about something excitedly, when Merula’s arrives at Flying class. Rowen is rambling about something, gesturing animatedly with her hands when she abruptly shuts up at the sight of Merula.

“What,” Merula snaps defensively.

Rowen glances at Penny nervously, (y/n) stiffening next to the two of them.

“Nothing,” Penny replies, voice uncharacteristically venomous. (y/n) doesn’t say anything, but watches her warily.

The silence between the two of them is charged with things unspoken. They haven’t been face to face since the cursed ice, and Merula isn’t about to initiate anything.

“Whatever,” she huffs when no one speaks again, and stomps off to grab a broom.

She pretends like she’s not listening to their conversation, and they must think she isn’t because they start talking again. 

Merula hears the words ‘Hagrid’, ‘presents’ and something about a surprise, and she scoffs at their transparency. It doesn’t take much effort to connect the dots.

Rowen notices her watching them, and shushes Penny.

In spite of herself, the implication that Merula isn’t trustworthy stings. “I’m not going to say anything,” she grumbles, and (y/n) gives her an indiscernible look.

She means it. She’d never say it out loud, but Merula appreciates Hagrid. She wouldn’t mind doing something nice for him. He’s not very bright, causes a lot more trouble than he’s worth, but he has good intentions and Merula doesn’t have many people like that left in her life. 

Maybe Felix counts, but his bossiness is annoying.

“We’re having a surprise party for Hagrid,” (y/n) finally says and both Rowen and Penny give her bewildered looks, but (y/n) pays them no mind. “It’s in a week on the castle grounds.”

“(y/n)—” Rowen says uncertainly.

“Bring a present if you’re coming. And don’t tell him anything.” Then she turns around as if she hadn’t spoken to Merula at all.

There was a challenge in (y/n)’s words, like she was daring Merula to actually do something nice because she didn’t think she was capable. It rubs Merula the wrong way and she juts her chin out. “I’ll be there,” she says a little angrily.

Maybe it’s the angle, or the lighting, but she swears (y/n)’s mouth twitches in semblance of a smile.

* * *

She writes her grandmother for the first time since Christmas, after spending hours thinking about what she could get Hagrid. At first, she'd thought she'd give him some sort of cleaning product, like soap. He definitely needs a bath, but then she thinks better of it.

Her mother owned a unicorn once, and Hagrid likes magical creatures, so she’s thinking of getting him pictures of it. She's sure her father took multiple with his old camera, and they're hidden somewhere in the house. Merula had ridden it once, although she was too young to remember the experience. The only proof she has is in pictures.

Her grandmother replies relatively quickly, to Merula’s surprise. Attached to the letter is a neat bundle of photos, tied together with a brown ribbon. Most of them are of the unicorn, but Merula finds one of her on the unicorn’s back, giggling as her father steadies her.

The picture moves, and she looks at her younger self, at her father smiling next to her. Her hair is tied back with purple ribbons, neat-looking. Her mother used to spend hours combing it, and Merula never had the patience to do the same after she left.

There’s another one at the very end of the pile. In it, her mother is leaning against the unicorn’s side, grinning with all her teeth showing. 

Merula hasn’t seen that smile in so long, and something sharp twists in her gut.

She's alone in the dorm, so softly, she murmurs: “hi, mama.” Her mother’s gaze shifts to her, still smiling, but doesn’t answer.

Her chest tightens, and she tucks the photo underneath her pillow, swallowing the lump in her throat.

* * *

The party is in full swing when Merula arrives, the grounds covered in streamers and colorful cloth. There’s a giant cake resting on a sturdy-looking table, laden with presents. In her hand is an envelope of the pictures she’ll be giving Hagrid. She didn’t bother signing her name, and now she’s glad she didn’t because her gift looks so bare next to the bright ribbons and bows.

She spots (y/n) a few feet away, and their eyes meet briefly before Merula glances away. She’s surprised to see Professor Snape standing with a group of professors. He’s frowning, and Merula stifles a laugh at the absurdity of it. He looks completely out of place, and Merula feels a little better herself.

“You actually came.”

Merula startles, and turns to see (y/n), a little offended by the disbelief in her voice.

“I’m not staying,” she blurts out, and flushes when (y/n) glances at the envelope in her hand.

“You got something for him, too.” There’s a touch of warmth in her voice.

The sudden camaraderie is too much, so Merula awkwardly blurts out the first thing she thinks of. “Let me know when your birthday is,” (y/n)’s eyebrows go up, “I’ll get you a life.”

She expects a scoff, a dismissal, for (y/n) to leave her alone so she can set her gift on the table in peace.

Instead, she laughs, teeth flashing. “Sure, I’ll do the same.” 

Merula blinks at her, feeling the corners of her mouth turn upwards, before she presses them together quickly. (y/n) leaves without a goodbye, joining Ben who is trying to finish an enormous slice of cake.

She sets the envelope on the table, taking one last look at the people on the castle grounds. The air is light with laughter, and Merula turns and leaves the party behind her.

* * *

The year comes to a close. Merula received high marks on everything, but somehow, it doesn’t make her as happy as she thought it would. During the grand feast, she sits at the end of the table, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. The chatter is loud, the goodbyes sad and heavy with tears, but Merula hardly notices.

A couple of Slytherin first years say goodbye, and Felix tells her to take care of herself. 

Tulip comes up to her briefly. “I’ll write you about the vaults. Make sure you do a lot of research!” She leaves before Merula has even noticed she was talking to her.

(y/n) doesn’t bother talking to her. Merula doesn’t care. 

At some point during the feast, she notices the lack of green surrounding (y/n). All her friends are either Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws or Gryffindors, and even though she doesn’t want to, Merula remembers Felix’s words.

_ People outside of our house naturally dislike us. _

Looking at them, Rowen and Ben laughing, Penny beaming with her shoulder pressed up against (y/n)’s, Merula thinks it must be true. Merula knows she did things to make them dislike her, but that doesn’t mean other Slytherin’s did. Merula’s table is crowded with green, but the tiny cluster that (y/n)’s group forms is just yellow and blue and red.

Suddenly, she just wants to go home, to return to a familiar place with familiar people. It won’t feel the same without her parents, but the yearning has carved an unbearable cavern in her heart.

When the Hogwarts Express arrives, she loads her things onto the train cart, keeping her head down as everyone else around her says their goodbyes. No one bothers joining her in the train car.

With a heavy apprehension in her gut, Merula looks out the window, and watches as Hogwarts disappears on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> year two will come with loads of good prefect felix :)


	2. year two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm so sorry this took so long. i'll try to do better haha
> 
> Special thanks to my betas Raven and Hannah for putting up with my merula ramblings :)
> 
> Merle is a nickname
> 
> remember they're immature twelve-year-olds! and as I promised: tons of good prefect felix

Merula’s summer passes quickly. She doesn’t want to admit it, but after the first week, the routine gets very monotonous. She’s not allowed to practice magic at home, (which is stupid, she practiced before she was even _ at _ Hogwarts), and she reads all her new books twice.

Around the third week, she asks if she can go to Diagon Alley to get her supplies early. _ Not now, Merle, _her grandmother answers, sounding more tired than Merula has ever heard her. Her grandfather lies in bed and turns his neck to look at her. The edges of his mouth pull up in a grimace before he starts coughing and her grandmother shoos her out of the room.

She knows her grandfather’s health hasn’t been good after he went to St. Mungo’s last Christmas. Merula still remembers him taking her to Quidditch World Cups when she was younger. He was more energetic then, and he’d spend hours telling her about his Quidditch days even though she’s heard the stories countless times.

The house would feel empty without him, she thinks, but she pushes that thought of her mind.

To pass time, she re-reads her parents’ letters, flipping them over and over again, holding them up to the light to see if there’s a secret message. 

_ Merula, _

_ How are you? We miss you. We’re so proud you’re doing well at school. We expected nothing less. Keep up your good marks, and make sure to continue working hard. _

_ Love, mama and papa. _

The most recent one is from months ago. She brought it up to her grandmother, who had gotten very irritable and told her it was past her bedtime. She tends to do that whenever Merula brings up her parents — closes off and changes the subject — so Merula doesn’t ask again.

* * *

Her birthday comes soon, and the night before she lies in her bed, too giddy to fall asleep. She wakes up early and gets out of bed. Her parents wrote her a letter last year, congratulating on her acceptance and being one year older.

Usually, her grandmother has something planned, so Merula sits and waits.

Except one hour passes, two then three then four, and the house remains eerily quiet.

When she gets too fidgety, she goes to see if her grandparents are awake yet. Her grandmother is sitting next to her grandfather, who is lying in bed, eyes closed. They’re murmuring quietly to each other.

“Nana?” She asks.

Her grandmother turns around and sighs. “Not now, Merle.” It’s a nickname her mother gave her. She hasn’t heard it in a long time.

“It’s just, today is—”

“Not _ now, _ Merula,” her grandmother repeats, voice harsh and addled with exhaustion.

Merula knows better than to bother her grandmother when she’s in one of her moods, but it still hurts. Her birthday is the one day when people are obligated to be nice to her.

She closes the door forcefully and immediately regrets it. She’ll get an earful for being disrespectful later.

Except she doesn’t. Her grandmother doesn’t even mention her birthday when she comes downstairs, and Merula starts thinking that she’s forgotten.

“Nana?” She tries again. “Today's my birthday.”

The stricken look on her grandmother’s face is all the answer she needs.

“You forgot,” she says petulantly, throat closing up.

“Of course not—” 

“You _ forgot _,” Merula all but shouts. She doesn’t trust herself to speak again and rushes up the stairs.

“Merula—” her grandmother’s voice is imploring and scolding at the same time, but Merula doesn’t want to hear any of it.

This time, she really slams the door, hands shaking. She’s proud of herself for not crying, but she still feels stupid. She must’ve looked like such an idiot, anticipating a celebration that was never going to happen, waiting for a letter that would never come.

Her grandmother knocks on her door once, but when Merula doesn’t answer, she doesn’t try again.

* * *

The hurt doesn’t abate for days, and she stews bitterly in her room for a week before talking to her grandparents again.

She thinks about writing a letter to her parents, demanding an explanation for why they haven’t been writing lately, why they forgot her birthday. She drafts one, even gets a stamp and is about to ask if she can borrow her grandfather’s owl, but then never sends it. She’s written _ Azkaban _ on it in her neatest handwriting, but when she looks at it twice it seems stupid. The crumpled paper makes an empty sound when she throws it in the bin.

When the post comes again, she sifts through the envelopes, hoping one will be addressed to her. There is, but not from someone she expects.

_ Tulip Karasu, _says the hurried handwriting.

Merula grimaces but opens it anyway. 

_ Hi. Hope your summer is going well. I found a book I think could help us with the vaults. It’s called Curses and Cures. Write me and we can compare notes. _

It’s surprisingly business-like for someone as rebellious as Tulip. 

Merula does end up borrowing the book, but can’t bring herself to write back until weeks pass and break is almost over. 

She sends the owl, but in the remaining weeks before school starts, Tulip doesn’t write again.

* * *

The day before Merula leaves for Hogwarts, her grandmother sits her down. There’s something bordering guilt in her eyes, but when Merula blinks, it disappears.

“I’m sorry we forgot your birthday,” she says after an awkward silence, and Merula’s eyes widen with shock.

Her grandmother never apologizes. Merula doesn’t think she’s ever heard it before.

“It’s okay,” she replies unthinkingly.

There’s a sigh, then a package is being pushed towards her. 

“Think of it as a belated present,” her grandmother says in answer to Merula’s incredulous look.

She tears it open slowly at first, before the curiosity gets the better of her and she rips the paper away. It’s a Nimbus 1700 broomstick, and etched carefully in the wood is the word _ Snyde _.

“It’s your father’s broom,” her grandmother says like Merula doesn’t know, hasn’t realized.

She’s speechless for a minute. When her parents left, the ministry took all their possessions, claiming they needed screening for dark magic. Merula hadn’t understood or minded because she wasn’t allowed to touch the broom anyways, but it’s back now, smooth and light in her small hands.

“Thanks, nana,” she grins.

If she’d been looking, she would’ve seen the rigidity leave her grandmother’s shoulders, the slight smile replacing her usual frown, but Merula just traces the family name and the room stays quiet.

* * *

On the day of departure, she sits alone on the Hogwarts Express, pulling out her potions book for extra reading. She’d contemplated looking for Tulip and thought better of it.

She hears laughter down the hall and is tempted to poke her head out, but stays planted to her chair when she hears a voice:

“Penny, _ stop! _”

The voice is unfamiliar, but the name is not. She’s not scared of Penny Haywood, she tells herself. Even then, she presses her back to the seats and hopes the voices don’t come closer.

The train pulls up to the station, and Merula lugs her suitcases after her. They’re heavy and she struggles to keep up as the group advances forward. 

They near the lake, and she lifts one up, letting out a frustrated breath when it slips from her grip. She looks at the rest of the boats leaving shore, some already a quarter across. Hogwarts looms in the distance and Merula realizes she’s the only person who hasn’t boarded yet.

“Let me ‘elp you with ‘at,” rumbles a voice behind her, effectively jerking her out of her temporary panic.

Hagrid looks exactly the same as he did before, bending over to pick up the luggage like they weigh nothing. The boat dips to one side as he sits in it, and Merula speechlessly follows.

He attempts to make conversation, but gets the hint when Merula stays sullenly quiet. As they pull up to shore, she glances around, not sure who she’s looking for. 

And then she sees her. 

(y/n) is talking to the Khanna twins. She doesn’t notice Merula looking at her but Rowan does. He scowls at her before ushering the three of them through the doors.

Merula clenches her fists around her suitcase handle, straightens her back, and walks in with the rest of her classmates.

* * *

No one bothers to talk to her at the feast besides Felix. 

“Merula,” Felix nods as he passes her, and she nods back. It’s silly, but the acknowledgement makes her feel grownup.

The great hall is filled with raucous chatter, but all Merula can hear is (y/n)’s resonating laughter through the cacophony. She turns to look in a moment of weakness and their eyes meet. 

Almost immediately, the smile on (y/n)’s face fades, replaced with something tense and apprehensive. Her friends don’t notice the sudden shift. Merula should sneer, scowl, do something in reaction. Instead, both of them look away quickly.

Across the table, another Slytherin gets her attention. “Hey, you’re Merula Snyde, right?” He seems older, and Merula’s eyes narrow cautiously.

He grins at her blatant hostility. “Is it true you challenged Jacob’s sister and lost?”

She stiffens immediately. Hadn’t people forgotten about that? A whole summer had passed, but it seemed that even the older students knew about it, weren’t letting it go even though Merula was trying so hard to. A hot flush of shame forces her eyes to the empty plate in front of her.

“Don’t worry about it, Jacob was batshit _ crazy _. There’s no way you could win against anyone in his family.”

It’s meant as comfort, but her knuckles tighten around the fork in her hand. The implication that (y/n) is crazy should make her feel better, but all Merula feels is a burning indignation. 

“I can win,” she spits out.

“Woah—” the Slytherin says.

“I’m going to win,” she punctuates ‘win’ by slamming her fork onto the table. Mocking laughter follows her as she leaves, and even when she’s back in her dorm, it echoes in her head.

* * *

“Merula!” A voice shouts in the corridor.

It takes a moment for the sound to register, and Merula turns to see Tulip running towards her.

“Hey, I thought we could catch up,” she says, grinning.

Her chipper attitude is a stark contrast to Merula’s own. “About what?” 

Tulip doesn’t seem too perturbed by her lack of enthusiasm. “About the vaults! I got your letter, but it was so short, and I know you definitely had more to say. We should meet in the library when we don’t have class.”

She blinks. “Okay,” she finally says. Despite herself, Merula feels her face breaking into a smile. This is what she had been looking forward to at Hogwarts: studying with friends, getting stronger and learning material not taught in class. 

Tulip is a little too quirky for her tastes, but she’s smart and driven and doesn’t like (y/n), and that’s enough for Merula.

“Great.” Tulip claps her hands together. “We could even try sneaking into the restricted section,” she whispers, voice dipping low as a group of third years pass the two of them.

At this, Merula grins. “Sure.” If anything, Tulip’s trouble-making attitude is refreshing, a welcome respite from all the imposing rules the teachers have set on them.

Before she can say anything else, Tulip is already rushing off. “Bye!” She calls as she disappears around the corner, and Merula doesn’t get a word in otherwise.

* * *

She has potions with (y/n) again. 

Merula is already sitting down when (y/n) enters, glancing at her almost nervously — _ good _, Merula thinks — before setting her books down.

She could have easily chosen another seat, but she chose to sit here instead.

Merula doesn’t think twice before sweeping her hand out and knocking the books onto the floor with a definitive thud.

For a minute, they stare at each other. But then (y/n) doesn’t even speak, doesn’t even challenge Merula or ask what’s wrong with her. Instead, she bends over and picks the books up, dusting the covers.

The dismissal wrenches her gut, sharp and hurt. She isn’t going to be _ ignored _, not after everything that happened last year.

She grabs _ Magical Drafts and Potions _out of (y/n)’s unsuspecting hands, and the terrible gut-feeling abates slightly when (y/n) sputters.

“Are you serious?” She asks.

Merula turns her head, pretending not to hear. She’ll see how (y/n) likes the silent treatment.

“Merula, I thought we were over this.”

She snaps her head around, still clutching the book. “What, you thought we were going to make up?” Merula says derisively.

“No. I thought you’d grow up over the summer,” (y/n) retorts, mouth twisting into a frown.

“You humiliated me,” she says, hating how petty she sounds.

If she didn’t know better, Merula would think that (y/n)’s eyes softened, something bordering pity in her eyes, and she clenches her jaw. 

“No one cares about that anymore,” (y/n) says.

_ I do, _Merula almost says. “Who says?” She demands, voice growing heated. “Whenever I tell someone I’m good at something, they say you’re better. Whenever I bring up duelling, they talk about how I lost to you. Everyone cares. Everything leads back to you.”

The sudden tirade stuns both of them speechless.

“I can’t — I can’t do anything about that,” (y/n) says after a moment.

“Duel me.” 

(y/n)’s face scrunches in a grimace. “What?”

“We’ll settle this and people will realize that was just a fluke. I’m stronger than you.”

She waits for the answer, and (y/n) opens her mouth around a firm rejection, but then she closes her eyes with a resigned sigh, and Merula knows she’s won.

* * *

(y/n) had agreed to a quick duel on the training grounds. Merula told her she needed to focus on her studies and pushed the date back, but it was actually so she could train. 

She already knows (y/n)’s going to ask Bill Weasley, the newest addition to her pack of ragamuffins, and Merula knows she’ll have to get someone just as good if not better.

“Felix.” Merula clears her throat.

The library isn’t the best place to have this conversation. Merula had set out to find him immediately because she wants to get as much practice as she can. 

Across the room, Madam Pince’s aquiline eyes focus on her, narrowed in suspicion.

Felix glances towards her and exhales, quietly setting his quill down.

She stands next to him, wondering whether or not it’d be rude to sit down without invitation. Felix nods towards the empty seat before it gets too awkward, and the chair squeaks when she slides into it.

“I need your help.” She scowls when Felix’s eyes widen.

“What for?”

“To teach me spells.”

Felix closes his book, scrutinizing her for a moment. Merula knows she hasn’t been very trustworthy, but Felix seems to cut her more slack than he does than with the other second years. “What are these spells for?”

She knew he’d ask, but it’s still ceaselessly annoying. “Are you going to teach me or not?” She snaps.

“Not with that attitude.” Felix leans back, and if Merula didn’t know better, she’d say he almost looks amused. “Let’s talk about it.”

She sullenly stares at the table instead.

“Why do you want to learn more spells?”

“To get ahead in class,” she answers quickly, the response premeditated. Felix’s only reaction is a dubious look.

“Is that the only reason?”

Merula crosses her arms. “Yes.”

Felix sighs. “Merula, I’ll teach you—” he gives her a reproachful look when she straightens excitedly, “but only if you’re honest with me.”

For a brief moment, neither of them say anything. The people at the table next to them pay them no attention, continuing to murmur softly, their quills scratching on paper. 

“I have a duel,” she reluctantly grits out. She should’ve known there’s no point in lying (she’s terrible at it anyway.)

“With (y/n),” Felix finishes for her, no trace of surprise on his face. “I don’t think you need me to remind you that dueling is forbidden on school grounds.” He pauses just long enough for Merula to start regretting that she asked.

“But I’ll help you.” 

Her head jerks up. “You will?”

Felix shrugs, but there’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lip. “It’ll be nice to see you hand (l/n)’s ass to her.”

Merula gapes at him, her surprise not just from his agreement, but at the uncharacteristic swearing. He grins at the evident shock on her face, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, and slowly, Merula smiles back.

* * *

The two weeks go by quickly. Every day, Merula tracks down Felix in the common room and he practices with her until it’s dinnertime or when he has to leave. She’s improved tremendously, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

She voices it out loud after a botched attempt at the disarming charm. 

Felix lowers his wand, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

“(y/n) already knows _ Expelliarmus _.” 

To her surprise, Felix sits down and gestures for her to do the same. “Merula, _ Expelliarmus _ isn’t the only spell in the wizarding world.”

“I know,” she grits her teeth, kneeling on the dirt floor, “but (y/n) already knows it, and she’s probably moved on to even more advanced spells—” 

“So? You knew _ Flipendo _ before she did. You also picked up _ Rictumsempra _ and the other duelling tricks very quickly.”

When he’s met with a stubborn silence, he continues. “The best duellers don’t rely on advanced spells alone, they also rely on their wits, and I’d say between the two of you, you’re much quicker on your feet.” 

Merula glances at him, the smothering feeling in her chest releasing. 

“Tomorrow, don’t focus on impressive shows of strength. Think on your feet. Observe (y/n)’s weaknesses and use those to your advantage.” He smiles encouragingly — a rare sight — helping Merula to her feet. “Now come on, let’s try that again.”

* * *

The library is a bit more bustly than usual. Madame Pince has shushed everyone at least four times in the time Merula and Tulip have been here.

They’ve been meeting up periodically to study, grabbing new books and poring over them. They’ve even made a map of the castle. It shows hallways they haven’t been to, secluded passages and doors they need to explore. It looks detailed enough to be professional, and the two of them take turns hiding it in their dorms.

“You’ve been busy,” Tulip says on the offhand.

“I’ve been preparing for my duel,” Merula answers unthinkingly, and stiffens when she realizes what she’s said.

Tulip doesn’t seem bothered. “Another one? Against who?”

Merula had thought Tulip would ask if she could watch, and although she’s relieved she didn’t, she also realizes she wouldn’t mind if it was Tulip watching. “(y/n),” she whispers after a moment.

Tulip doesn’t even blink. “Wow, you’re really obsessed with (y/n).”

A hot flush of embarrassment washes over her, and she sets her quill down, looking around nervously. “Am not!” She says a little too loudly, and Madame Pince sends her a harsh look.

“She’s so boring though, always following the rules,” Tulip continues, ignoring Merula’s outburst. “Have you seen her kiss up to Professor Flitwick?”

It’s the first she’s heard of it, and Merula grins. “No, when did she do that?”

Tulip waves her hand, rolling her eyes. “All the time. I have charms with her, but we don’t talk,” she pauses, “I don’t think she knows who I am. Anyways, she’s always volunteering to demonstrate. Not to mention she’s always helping that Gryffindor kid with _ Wingardium Leviosa _.”

“Billingsley?” Merula offers, because she’s heard too many stories about him. They’re mostly about all the accidental trouble he gets into.

Tulip snaps her fingers, eliciting another aggressive _ shh! _ from Madame Pince. “That’s him. I bet she’s no fun.”

Merula closes her book, engrossed in the conversation. “She’s not. And she’s not very smart either. Snape is always yelling at her.”

Tulip frowns. “She seems pretty smart in Charms. Her answers are always right. Did you know she cast the best _ Lumos _ out of the first years?”

Merula opens her book again, suddenly less interested. “Whatever,” she mutters, before noticing the fraying edge of Tulip’s robe. “Your robe looks really old,” she says in an attempt to change the subject.

Tulip glances at it, the bright look on her face fading. “We bought it used,” she says in a voice much quieter than her usual one.

The change in inflection is hard to pick up on, but Merula notices anyways. “Why?”

Tulip picks up her quill, hair falling in a curtain over her face. “Saves money,” is the curt reply, before she starts scribbling on her parchment furiously.

The library gets quieter, and Merula opens her mouth to say something to fill the silence, before realizing there’s no reason to. 

Still, the silence feels much more awkward than before.

* * *

The duel happens right after class. (y/n) said they shouldn’t tell anyone to avoid having an unwanted audience. 

Merula had scoffed. _ Scared? _ She’d jabbed, but had been secretly relieved.

She passes Felix as she heads to the training grounds, and he stops her.

“Don’t be nervous—” 

“‘m not,” Merula mutters.

Felix pretends not to hear her. “You’ll be fine.” He hesitates to say something, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, looking more serious than she’s ever seen him.

“Remember, the best duellers can think on their feet,” he says, “and the best duellers know when they’ve been defeated.” 

When the words register, Merula wrenches her shoulder out of Felix’s grip. For once, she’d like someone to have some faith in her. “I’m not going to lose,” she snarls. Felix doesn’t say anything to that, so she backs away.

She tries to swallow the hurt lump in her throat.

Then she leaves to find (y/n).

* * *

(y/n) is already waiting, sitting on the floor. She seems much calmer than Merula feels, fiddling with her wand as the breeze blows by.

She looks up at the sound of Merula’s footsteps and gets to her feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

Merula doesn’t trust her voice not to shake when she talks, so she just brandishes her wand, digging her feet in the ground in a last minute attempt to steady herself.

The duel goes fast. Much faster than the first time, and it’s evident both of them have gotten better. It’s also clear that Merula has the upperhand. 

(y/n) stumbles a lot, misses her shots, and Merula thinks triumphantly — _ I’m going to win. _

She raises her wand, _ Flipendo _on her tongue, but then (y/n) beats her to it.

“_ Incendio! _”

A sharp burst of light blinds her momentarily, and when she blinks the spots out of her eyes, her robe is on fire. All thoughts of the duel flee, and she drops her wand in a futile attempt to put the fire out. Embarrassingly, she registers the shrieking sound as her own voice.

“Merula,” (y/n) says, sounding far away.

Merula can’t believe she’s going to burn to death.

“Merula!” (y/n) shouts, suddenly very close to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. She’s wrestled to the ground, and only then does the fire go out.

There’s a pregnant pause. “You—you _ burned _ me,” Merula sputters when she can talk again. 

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking. Merula, I’m sorry—”

(y/n) falls back as Merula pushes her violently. Her wand lies far away, and when their eyes meet, both of them realize what it means.

“I won,” (y/n) says disbelievingly. “Merula—”

“Shut up,” she snarls, and is surprised when (y/n) actually does. 

How did (y/n) manage to learn _ Incendio _? She rakes a hand through her hair and draws it away, horrified, when she pulls out a singed clump of hair.

(y/n) has the audacity to look just as horrified. “We can go see Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure she knows spells—”

“_ Shut up _,” Merula all but shouts. “I lost,” she says after an extended pause. The words taste hollow on her tongue, and she clenches her fists in the dirt. 

“It was a good duel,” (y/n) offers, and then tentatively extends her hand towards Merula.

Merula stares at it, too frazzled for the humiliation to set in. “I’m going to beat you next time.” She takes (y/n)’s outstretched hand, gripping it tightly, and shakes it once. Her fingers burn when she pulls her hand away, her palm suddenly sweaty.

(y/n) sighs, a habit she’s adopted around Merula. “There won’t be a next time.” She frowns. “Is your hair—do you want me to go with you to Madame Pomfrey?”

Childishly, Merula shoves her again, sending her stumbling a few steps back. She doesn’t bother to answer, grabbing her wand before heading back to the castle. Maybe she’ll be lucky enough that no one sees her.

* * *

Of course, she bumps into Tulip in the hallway.

“Hey! I got some more info—” Tulip’s gaze flickers to her burnt robes. “What happened to your hair?” She asks, but Merula is already pushing past her.

“Sod off, Tulip,” she snaps before storming back to her dorm.

A few people look up when she enters the common room, scrutinizing the disheveled look she’s sporting, but no one says a word before they go back to their conversations.

Felix comes up to her, a concerned look on his face. “Merula?” 

The results of the duel finally set in when she sees him. He must know from the look on her face, must see the burnt edges of her robes.

“I lost,” she says, before her face crumples.

Felix ushers her to a secluded part of the Slytherin common room, sitting down next to her as she holds back her tears. Somehow, being seen like this is worse than losing.

It hurts when she swallows the huge lump in her throat, but thankfully, her vision clears and her breathing evens out.

“It’s okay,” Felix says softly. He doesn’t try to hug her, something Merula is infinitely grateful about. She doesn’t need the show of pity.

“She knew _ Incendio _ . Why didn’t you teach me _ Incendio _?” She asks, the words accusatory. “What kind of prefect are you?” She spits out, anger replacing her misery.

Felix doesn’t seem offended, and somehow, that makes her feel worse. 

“You didn’t even think I could win, “ she continues. “You taught me useless spells, knowing I would lose—”

He cuts her off before she starts spiraling. “You’re not going to win every duel. I’ve lost a countless number of them.”

“But I needed to win this one.” The realization hits her as she says it. This was a test she’d posed for herself, to show that she was stronger, that she was not the subject of jokes and mockery.

Felix is silent, before he starts talking. “When I was in my second year, just around where you are now, I was the top of my class in potions.” 

Merula stares at him. Felix isn’t known for his tact, but if this is his way of cheering her up, he’s doing an especially poor job of it.

“I expected to do well on every test, and the first time I didn’t, I was extremely disappointed in myself. What made it worse was that it was the supposedly the easiest assessment of the year, and Jane — the Hufflepuff prefect — did better than I did.” He leans back, and Merula realizes the slant of his mouth isn’t a grimace but a smile. “I was angry and humiliated because I thought I was better than she was. Even more so because Slytherin’s are expected to be good at potions.” 

He looks at her then. “And I realized that wasn’t the point. Because I thought I was better than her, I’d taken a single failure as something shameful, when in reality, I should have been learning from it.”

Felix sighs. “My point is, you’re not always going to win. It sounds bad, but you have to accept that. You have to know that there’s always someone better, but that doesn’t mean you’re _ worse _. (y/n) may have beat you in a duel, but that doesn’t discredit your other merits. You learned a third year spell in a matter of days when I’ve seen people older than you struggle with it for weeks. Other people’s strong points and victories don’t mean you have none of your own,” Felix finishes.

She stares at the floor, reeling from the speech. It’s too much for her to take in at once, and she’ll be honest and say it hasn’t done much to make her feel better. No matter how pretty Felix’s words are, she still lost. 

“Think about that, okay?” Felix says, getting up. “And, er, go see Madame Pomfrey when you’re ready.”

Merula grunts, thoughts swirling in her head, confusing and turbulent.

* * *

That night, she stays up too long thinking about it.

It’s not that Merula doesn’t understand what Felix is saying, it’s that she doesn’t have room to be bad at anything, not if people are going to acknowledge her. She’d be well on her way if (y/n) hadn’t thrown a wrench in her plans. She can’t spend time dwelling on her mistakes or making any. If she’s not the best, then there’s no point.

Which is why in the following weeks, she finds herself in the library so much, why she starts skipping meals, why her sudden drive to beat (y/n) means staying up to two in the morning reading textbooks and obscure material she smuggled from the Restriction Section. 

She’s young and full of energy, so she doesn’t understand how damaging her mindset is in the long run — all she can think about is being the most powerful, having to be the most powerful, needing to be seen as the strongest. The concept of second or third is pushed to a deep reserve in the back of her mind, and it only comes out during pitiful bouts of insecurity.

Merula knows how to take care of herself. She can cook herself meals, can walk to the store and back on her own, can do the dishes and laundry and any other chore in the house. Her parents’ absence necessitates it. 

But she doesn’t know how to care _ for _ herself. Slowing down, getting enough sleep, sharing her feelings before they fester into something harmful — are concepts out of her grasp. Her childhood was spent growing up and learning what she could and couldn’t say. There wasn’t leeway for failure or time to take things slow — not if she was going to get her parents back.

To her twelve-year-old self, it seems like her energy is boundless, like she could go days without sleep if it meant finishing the newest book on dueling techniques or jinxes and hexes.

Her maturity only regards the technicalities of life while her sociability lags and eventually falls behind. She can handle knives and fire and floo powder without her grandparent’s supervision, but she has no idea how to make friends. All the spiteful words, the pushing and shoving, are just attempts to have some control over the uncontrollable.

She doesn’t know what kindness is, not when she grew up in a household nearly void of it. The only values she has are for power and absolute control, and feelings and sentimentalities are too unpredictable to play a part in her life.

She isn’t allowed to cry. She promised her parents she wouldn’t when they left. And looking at it now, she doesn’t have time to cry anyways. If — _ when _ she becomes the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, there’ll be no need for it.

* * *

“I guess the duel didn’t go well?” Tulip asks in their corner of the library. It’s been weeks since the duel, and Merula hasn’t heard anything about it, so she’s guessing (y/n) kept her end of the deal and didn’t tell anyone.

Merula clenches her fist around her quill, the ink dripping onto her potions work. “Who said?” She says harshly.

Tulip instantly looks like she regrets asking. “It’s just, you don’t seem to be in a very good mood.”

“No kidding,” she snaps, and Tulip’s eyes go wide.

“Drama queen,” she hears her mutter, and Merula’s head snaps up.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Tulip says quickly.

“What did you call me?” She demands again. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Tulip actually looked scared. _ Good, that’ll teach her to call me names. _

“Nothing,” Tulip repeats, eyes flitting around nervously.

“I thought so,” Merula says, before returning to her work.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, before Tulip tries to strike up a conversation again. “Are you doing anything this summer?”

“No,” Merula replies, still stewing over being called a drama queen.

“Well, my family’s going to the Amazon,” Tulip continues, unperturbed by Merula’s lack of interest. “My parents are being sent by the Ministry, and all our expenses are covered by them.”

“What are you going to do there?” Merula asks, rising to the bait.

“Sightseeing, probably. I’ll take pictures,” Tulip grins. “We were saving for the trip, but my dad says we don’t need to worry about that anymore. I might even get new robes.”

“You need them,” Merula quips. Tulip’s face falls, and suddenly Merula feels kind of bad. “It sounds fun. Next summer I’m going to watch the Quidditch World Cup with my grandparents.”

Tulip’s eyes widen. “Don’t tickets cost loads?”

Merula shrugs. “Not really.” Then nervously, an idea comes to mind, and she stiffens. She looks at Tulip over the table, mulling over it, before she works up the courage to ask. “Maybe next summer we can watch together.”

For a second, something excited flashes in Tulip’s eyes before it dies just as quickly. “I can’t. I don’t even know how I’d get tickets.”

“Oh.” The silence takes over again, and this time, neither of them try to break it.

* * *

“Merula?”

Merula startles out of her hyperfocus on the passage in front of her. The candle she set next to her books is close to going out, flickering weakly, and when she looks at the clock, she realizes hours have passed without her realizing it.

Felix stands at the door to the Slytherin dorms. The common room is empty, and judging by the time, it’s been empty for a while. He’s dressed in some very unflattering sleepwear, and Merula stifles a snort that’s cut off by a yawn.

“It’s nearly two in the morning.” Felix says, annoyed but really more confused. “What are you doing?” He walks over, glancing at the books on the table and picking one up. “_ Standard Book of Spells — Grade Three. _Why are you looking at third-year material? How did you even get third-year books?”

Merula scowls, tempted to snatch the book back. “One of the third-years left it,” she mumbles. 

“I don’t see why you would need it, or why you’re still up.” Felix furrows his brow. “I didn’t stay up past 10:30 as a second-year.”

“I wanted to do some extra-reading,” she mumbles again, wishing Felix would leave her in peace.

“At two in the morning?”

Merula’s scowl deepens. Why can’t he just drop it?

“Merula, you need a healthy amount of rest—” Felix says, his voice taking on that tone he uses whenever he’s about to lecture someone.

“You stay up late all the time,” Merula interjects, effectively shutting him up.

Felix blinks, taken aback for a minute. “Well, that’s because I need to. I have O.W.L.s to worry about. You, on the other hand, seem to be doing this for fun.” 

When she stubbornly crosses her arms, he sighs and sits down across from her. 

“You need an adequate amount of sleep to grow and stay healthy. I understand that you enjoy reading and learning new material, but this isn’t good for you.”

Merula stares at the open book in front of her, attempting to tune him out. It’s not working as well as she had hoped.

Felix must realize his speech hasn’t moved her, so he takes a different approach. “Instead of reading about them, why don’t I teach you?”

She looks up at him. “Really?” It sounds too good to be true. It’d taken a lot of persuasion for him to prep her for her duel with (y/n).

“Really. But in exchange, I want you in bed before 11.”

Merula presses her lips together, mulling it over. She doesn’t enjoy being treated like a child, but the offer is also too good to pass up.

Felix continues. “I know a lot more than you think.”

She glances at him, slightly dubious. Felix definitely knows a lot, and since he’s older, he knows all the tips and tricks to get good marks in her classes. Along with that, she’s getting extra instruction, which is definitely an advantage. 

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Great.” Felix claps his hands together, smiling like he knew Merula would agree all along. “Now get to bed.”

* * *

There have been rumors going around. Apparently, (y/n) found another route to the cursed vaults, one hidden away. Everyone is talking about it in the Slytherin common room, and even Felix has acknowledged it. (Their tutoring sessions have been sporadic because of Felix’s busy schedule, but Merula is still learning a lot.)

When a curious fourth-year asks him about it, he rolls his eyes, telling everyone to dismiss the thought. “It’s very unlikely a second-year was able to find a cursed vault entrance when our professor’s have been unable to.”

Except Merula knows (y/n) too well, and it seems all too possible after what happened last year. Her only comfort is that nothing came off it but pointless gossip. She’s been making progress with Tulip, but if (y/n) has already found the true entrance, then they’re far behind.

Their next potions class together is awkward, to say the least. (y/n) glances at her when she sits next to her. It’s mediocre acknowledgement at best and Merula frowns.

It’s petty and stupid and very clear (y/n) isn’t in the mood to talk to her — she rarely is — but Merula can’t stop herself. “I’m surprised you haven’t been expelled yet,” she sneers.

Except (y/n) doesn’t rise to the bait, just rolls her eyes and angles her chair to face the other way, and something sharp twists in Merula’s gut.

“You’ll end up just like your brother—”

(y/n) whirls around, eyes blazing. “What is your problem?” She demands.

Merula smothers a pleased smile. “You,” she retorts, but (y/n) huffs angrily and shifts her seat away so Merula can’t say anything unless she raises her voice.

(y/n) avoids her gaze the whole hour, and Merula isn’t sure how to approach her again.

When everyone is dismissed, Merula catches her off guard. “I heard you found the cursed vault entrance.”

(y/n) glances at her briefly. “Leave me alone, Merula,” she says as she walks out into the hall.

Against her better judgment, Merula follows, struggling to keep up with (y/n)’s quick pace. “It’s too bad you couldn’t find your brother,” she says, and the effect is immediate.

(y/n) whips around so fast Merula is startled into dropping her books.

“What is wrong with you?” She hisses furiously.

Something about the twisted look on (y/n)’s face makes Merula’s blood boil, makes her hair stand on end and her chest tighten in anticipation.

“I bet it’s already too late for him,” she continues, knowing each word is only making (y/n) angrier. It brings a cruel kind of satisfaction, subjecting (y/n) to the same ugly feelings Merula has. It’s not fair that (y/n) is praised and lauded and Merula is shunned when she’s so much stronger and works so much harder.

“I bet he’s already dead,” she spits out. The next second, she’s on the floor, air knocked out of her lungs. (y/n) is standing over her, face two shades darker than normal with all the blood rushing to her head.

“Shut up, Merula. No one likes you. At least I’m making progress.” The words are stilted with anger, punched out and burning with resentment.

Merula is too shocked by (y/n)’s sudden act of violence to even feel angry about it.

_ That’s not true, _ Merula thinks. _ I have Tulip. I’m making progress too. _ “Who says? I’m working with someone much better than all your stupid friends _ combined _,” she gets to her feet shakily, lifting her arms to push (y/n) in retaliation, but someone gets between the two of them.

Rowan’s face is flushed with rage. “Leave us alone, Merula.” He puts a hand on (y/n)’s trembling shoulder, steering her away.

“Cursed child!” Merula calls after the both of them, and gets a spike of satisfaction when (y/n) freezes, but she doesn’t turn around, and the satisfaction leaves just as quickly as it came.

* * *

They find the cursed vault easily. It’s not difficult when Merula pools the notes she and Tulip have written together, added to the rumors flitting around. The door is much less imposing than she thought it would be, but they both agree it’s still too early to open it.

“We should find more clues so we’re more prepared,” Tulip says.

Merula grunts, rubbing her elbow. She’d bruised it when (y/n) pushed her, and the fight keeps playing in her head. Tulip bumps into her as they walk down the corridor, holding a box filled with trinkets and papers they’d collected over the past few weeks.

“Watch it,” she snaps.

“What’s your problem?” Tulip asks, face scrunched in confusion.

(y/n)’s stupid face flashes in her head, and Merula unknowingly clenches her fists. “Nothing. Would you focus on the door?” The words are harsher than she intends for them to be.

Merula expects Tulip to brush it off like she does every other time, but instead, she drops the box in her arms abruptly and turns to face her, cheeks blotchy. “Stop bossing me around.”

There’s a silence before the words register. “_ What? _”

“I’m not your servant.”

Merula glances at the frayed edges of Tulip’s sleeves, wondering why she’s suddenly so defensive. “What are you talking about?” she asks. When Tulip doesn’t answer, she leans down to pick up the box and carry it herself.

Tulip beats her to it, swooping down and pulling it away from Merula’s reach. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Merula steps forward to grab the box but Tulip jerks it back, and she growls because she doesn’t have _ time _ for this. If she’s going to beat (y/n) to the cursed vault, she can’t waste her time arguing.

“Give me the box, Tulip,” she says, trying to make her tone menacing, just like Professor Snape does whenever a student messes up.

Tulip doesn’t budge, and the steely resolve in her eyes is so similar to the one Merula’s seen countless times in (y/n)’s that bile rises in her throat.

“I’ll fight you if I have to. I don’t care,” she tries again. Except she does care. As much as she hates to admit it, Tulip is her only friend. _ Don’t make me hurt you. _

Tulip looks like she’s about to cry, bottom lip wobbly. Merula braces herself for the tears, but instead, Tulip lets the box fall to the floor with a resounding crash.

Merula flinches back, an insult on the tip of her tongue, but Tulip has already stormed off. 

The corridor is quiet as Merula stares after her retreating figure. The thought of going after her briefly crosses her mind, but it isn’t Merula’s fault Tulip was being difficult. Something in her chest hurts, but she ignores it and stoops down to pick up the box. 

It feels heavier than before, for some reason.

* * *

The hallway is empty and quiet as she walks back to her dorms. There’s an unsettling feeling in her gut that hasn’t left since her fight with Tulip, and she’s been aimlessly walking around, hoping the feeling will wear itself out eventually.

On her fourth time around the corridor, she sees Penny and Ben walking towards her from the other end. Penny is talking about something animatedly, back straight and hair straighter, stride confident as she gets closer and closer to Merula. 

Ben is a stark contrast next to her. He’s hunched over, as if something will jump out of the shadows at any minute. 

Both of them stiffen when they see Merula. Penny only slows, but Ben stops walking altogether, eyes fearfully glued to Merula’s own.

Merula keeps walking like they don’t bother her. “What are you looking at?” She snarls at Ben, glaring at him viciously as she passes them. The feeling in her gut abates slightly.

“B-back off, Merula,” Ben stutters, and the feeling returns ten-fold. She turns, ready for a fight, but Penny is already pushing Ben forward, the two of them walking fast. She cranes her neck back and gives Merula a look that isn’t quite a glare, but comes very close. 

Speechless, Merula watches them go, a lump forming in her throat. This day has been terrible, and she definitely can’t return to the Slytherin room now, not when she feels tears working their way through her system, ready to spill over at any minute.

She changes her route and speeds towards somewhere she can be alone.

The courtyard is empty when she arrives, eerily void of the sound of student chatter. She’s grateful for it anyhow, because the tears streaming down her face are unbearably mortifying. She sniffs, wiping her face with her sleeve even though she’s been taught not to.

She tries stopping the tears with sheer force of will, but the lack of control only makes her even more frustrated, and she sinks to sit on the fountain ledge. 

_ You’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, you’re not allowed to cry. _She just starts crying harder.

The night sky is clear, but her head feels confused, bogged down with anger and hurt. She’s too focused on her miserable hiccuping to hear the footsteps approaching behind her.

When she does, she turns to see a brutish-looking Slytherin boy in her year. If not for his stature, she wouldn’t have even noticed him. He’s already much taller than the other second years, and Merula wonders how many fights he’s gotten into; there’s a bruise forming on the bridge of his nose.

She vaguely remembers him from the entrance ceremony, but only because he’d been one of the other few students called out for having Death Eater parents.

It’s stupid, but she feels a sort of kinship with him because of it.

But then again, it’s rumoured they were too stupid to be put in Azkaban. Merula will never admit it, but she wishes her parents were idiotic enough to not be taken away too.

“Are you okay?” he asks, as if he hadn't just caught her hyperventilating.

Merula scowls at him, but he genuinely seems unsure about whether or not she’s upset.

“I have allergies,” she lies through her teeth.

“Oh. Okay. I’m allergic to walnuts!” He says cheerfully, and sits down next to her. “I’m Barnaby.”

She blinks at him, still hiccuping. If he’s trying to be comforting or if he actually believes her, she’s not sure, but she appreciates his guise of oblivity nonetheless.

“What are you allergic to?” He asks.

She stiffens, mind still reeling and unable to formulate a cohesive response. “What happened to your nose?” She asks hastily to change the subject.

Barnaby looks embarrassed. “I tried sneaking into Care of Magical Creatures and bumped into a tree.” He rubs his nose thoughtfully. “I think next time I’ll ask permission first.”

“Why are you alone?” Merula asks, because doesn’t he have friends to talk to instead of her? She knows she has a reputation for being a loner.

“Oh. I don’t like talking to the boys in my dorm. They call me slow even though I can run faster than all of them.” 

Merula stares, tears temporarily stopped, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. The earnest look on his face tells her he isn’t, and she snorts. 

“I bet I can run faster than you,” she says, and Barnaby brightens. 

“Will you race me? We can see who makes it back to the common room first.” 

Merula stands, wiping the wet tracks off her face and dusting off her robes. “Let’s go.”

Turns out he’s much faster than she is, but she wins anyways because he keeps waiting for her to catch up.

* * *

The holidays are coming soon, and Merula still hasn’t made up with Tulip. Neither of them are talking to each other, and Merula definitely isn’t going to be the first one. 

It seems like Tulip shares the same sentiment, and Merula even starts entertaining the idea that they’ll never talk again, but then Tulip joins her during dinner and she knows they’re okay again.

Well — not totally okay, but as close as they can get.

“Are you heading back home for Christmas?” Tulip asks. 

It seems they’ve both silently agreed not to mention their fight, something Merula is secretly relieved about. She knows Tulip probably is too. Unlike Merula, she’s not a confrontational person. She also knows that Tulip is sitting with her because she doesn’t have any friends in Ravenclaw to sit with. 

“I think so.” She’s prepared herself for the possibility of repeating last year, especially now that her grandfather has gotten sicker. “Are you?” 

Tulip nods. “My dad says we could afford a tree this year. We’ve never gotten one before.” She grins, and for once, Merula doesn’t comment. “Are you getting anything for Christmas?”

“I asked my grandparents for new books.”

Tulip shifts her food around on her plate, looking a little dejected. “Oh. I don’t usually ask my parents for presents. I’m happy with whatever I can get. I do want something from Zonko’s though.”

Merula scrunches her nose. “The joke shop? I could get you something from there. Why don’t you ask your parents for something else?”

Tulip grins. “Why don’t we do a secret santa?” She asks, completely evading the question.

“It’s not secret if we’re the only two doing it,” Merula points out, and Tulip visibly deflates. “We could still get each other something,” she suggests, feeling bad for shutting the idea down so quickly.

“Sure!” Tulip’s excitement seems to evaporate in a second. “Except, well, my present might not be so great. Maybe we should just write each other a card or something.”

“Okay,” Merula agrees easily. They start talking about Transfiguration, and the rest of the meal goes by comfortably without a hitch.

* * *

Her grandmother is the only one to pick her up at Platform 9¾, mouth smoothed out in a thin line and looking very impatient. 

Merula walks over to her, a small duffel bag in hand. Her grandmother doesn’t seem happy, and Merula walks up to her tentatively. Around her, other students are running towards their family, their reunion chatter loud and overbearing. 

Across the station, Merula sees Penny wrap her arms around a little girl who looks just like her. Merula isn’t expecting a warm reception — her grandmother has never been an affectionate woman. Still, it stings when everyone else is being greeted with smiles and welcoming words, and all Merula gets is a curt nod.

“Come, Merle.”

Merula forces her mouth to stop wobbling, tightening her grip around the duffel bag’s straps, and walks out of the station.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the house is cold. Her grandmother has never been a fan of anything warm — _ including familiar gestures _, Merula thinks to herself bitterly.

“Your grandfather is sleeping. Keep quiet.” 

Merula glances into the living room, setting her things down. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, imposing and undecorated. Tentatively, Merula trails into the kitchen.

“Nana?” 

Her grandmother hums, waving her wand as she rearranges the cutlery.

“Do you think we could decorate the tree?” She asks, hands clasped together.

Her grandmother glances at her. If Merula didn’t know better, she’d even say her eyes softened. “After dinner.” Merula beams and turns to go, but a deadpan voice stops her. “Don’t fidget with your hands.”

Merula forces her hands to her sides, trudging upstairs. Her room is untouched, a picture of their Christmas three years ago is sitting on the table, and Merula has to brush the dust off the frame. Merula is grinning from ear to ear, two of her teeth missing. Everyone is smiling — her father even has a Christmas hat on. She doesn’t remember it well, but she does remember being indescribably happy.

It was the Christmas her parents got the Nimbus, when they’d taken turns flying around with her. Her grandfather waves at her, and she sets the picture down. He looks drastically different now, skinnier and weaker, like the life is being sapped out of him.

Merula forces the thought out of her head and heads back downstairs for dinner.

* * *

Merula and her grandmother sit in the living room, sifting through what’s left of the Christmas post. The Christmas tree twinkles in the corner, lit up with garlands and lights. 

Her grandparents get countless letters each year, but Merula hadn’t been expecting one from anyone but Tulip. Merula sent her sugar quills with the words _ Happy Christmas _ written on the packaging, and had gotten a postcard in return.

She’s long since given up on hearing anything from her parents, who haven’t written in seven months.

The fire crackles in the fireplace, the snow outside piling up. It’s starting to grow dark, and her grandmother promised eggnog so Merula is impatiently shifting around in her seat: a large armchair her father used to use all the time. She’d been reading one of her grandfather’s old books but had gotten bored hours ago.

“Merle, this one is for you,” her grandmother says, snapping her out of her boredom.

Merula looks up with a surge of giddiness. She _ knew _ her parents would write.

“You know the Lee family?” Her grandmother asks and Merula deflates, realizing it isn’t from her parents.

She wonders who the Lee family is, taking the mail and pulling the letter out of the envelope.

_ Happy Christmas Merula! _

_ I hope your doing well. I asked my parants for a crup, but I got flobberwerms instead. Her are some berties beans! I tried to split the good ones from the bad ones but I couldent figure it out. _

_ Barnaby Lee _

The letter is riddled with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Merula is half tempted to correct them and send the letter back, but something about the exclamation marks makes her feel fuzzy, and she puts the letter and the carton of jelly beans next to her letter from Tulip. She doesn’t know Barnaby that well, but he’s taken to waving enthusiastically in the hallways whenever he sees her even though they’ve only really talked once.

It’s not like Merula can judge him for not having any friends when she has none of her own.

_ You have Tulip, _she reminds herself, and sinks back into the armchair.

“Merula,” her grandmother says gently. Merula grunts, sinking further into the cushions. “your parents wrote.” 

She sits up so fast her back lets out a loud _ crack _ of protest. “Really?” Her grandmother nods, and Merula eagerly snatches the envelope, manners completely forgotten.

_ Dear Merle, _reads the sophisticated handwriting. Merula tries to fend off her smile but gives up in favor of finishing the letter.

_ Happy Christmas. We’re sorry we cannot share the holidays with you. We hope you like your presents. Listen to your nana and poppa and stay safe. We heard about your good marks in potions and transfiguration class. You make us so proud, continue being the strong and clever Slytherin you are. _

_ Love, _

_ Mama and papa _

Something overly sentimental builds in her chest. _ I love you too, _she wants to say, but she can’t so she rereads the letter over and over again. 

“How did they know about my marks, nana?” She asks, eyes still glued to the paper. If she’d been paying attention, she would have noticed her grandmother stiffening in her chair.

The fire goes out and her grandmother mutters something unintelligible, taking out her wand. She gives Merula a rare smile when she relights the fire. “Why don’t we get some eggnog?” 

Merula beams and hops of the chair. “Okay,” she says, feeling the happiest she has in a long time, and heads for the dining room.

* * *

The holidays end sooner than Merula wants them to. It’s only a matter of days before she’s back at Hogwarts, going to classes and interacting with people she’d rather forget.

A few weeks go by uneventfully, save for a vault breakthrough with Tulip. They found two keys in the corridor, but they’ve yet to find the entrance. Merula thinks she’s going a little crazy, trying every single door she can find in the castle.

They’re sitting in a shady corner in the courtyard, exchanging stories about their holidays because they’ve gotten bored with studying.

“It was kind of boring. But Christmas Eve my nana let me travel to Honeydukes to get their Christmas special,” Merula says, knocking a gobstone around with her wand.

“How’d you get to Hogsmeade?” Tulip asks.

Merula shrugs. “Floo powder.”

“Your grandma lets you use floo powder?” Tulip’s eyes are wide with awe and envy.

“Yes?” Merula answers, confused by her amazement with something so simple.

“Lucky,” Tulip mutters. “My dad doesn’t even let me touch his wand. He says it’s a violation of the wand conduct and I’m too young.”

Merula smiles, feeling a little smug. “I get to use my grandma’s wand all the time. Mostly to do chores, but I still get to use it.”

“I’m so jealous,” Tulip sulks, absentmindedly leaning back. “My mum and dad both work for the ministry. They’re super strict about rules.”

Merula frowns. “Why do you break so many then?”

Tulip gives her a look. “It’s _ because _ they’re so strict that I break them. Which second-year has a bedtime of 8:30?” She sighs, slumping over. “I’d love to have as much freedom as you.”

Merula doesn’t say anything to that because yes, it is nice to be independent, but it’s also nice to have parents, someone to impose rules and tell you what you’re doing wrong. It seems like ever since her parent’s left, Merula has been going about everything blind. 

The Christmas talk has started to die, so Merula brings up another subject. “Why do you want to find the vault?”

Tulip breaks into a dreamy smile. “There must be a ton of treasure in them, right? I’d be rich. What about you?”

Merula bites back her response: _ to bring back my parents. _With unlimited knowledge and power, she’d be strong enough to do anything. It makes perfect sense: when Voldemort fell, her parents were taken away. When he comes back, they’ll come back too. Still, her grandmother warned her not to say anything about it, so Merula just shrugs. “People will realize I’m the strongest witch at Hogwarts.”

She doesn’t expect Tulip to laugh, and she stiffens defensively before she realizes it’s a nice laugh — not the mean kind she’s used to getting from older students.

“You’re so obsessed with that,” Tulip says quietly. There’s a small smile on her face. “If it makes you feel better, I think you’re the strongest witch in our grade.”

Merula stares at her. “Really?” Her voice cracks. Then, before she can stop herself: “Even better than (y/n)?”

Tulip laughs again. “You’re a lot cooler than her.”

Merula grins, and in the quiet ambience of the courtyard, Tulip grins back.

* * *

Her schedule is becoming monotonous and repetitive, to the point where she doesn’t think anything is going to happen when Dumbledore calls everyone to the Great Hall.

Each house is sitting at a designated table, meaning she’ll have to sit alone. She doesn’t have any Slytherin friends — she doesn’t have any _ friends _ aside from Tulip. 

Which is why it comes as a surprise when Barnaby enthusiastically calls her over to sit with him. 

She briefs a glance around the table, realizing there aren’t many spots left, and hastily takes a seat next to Barnaby.

“This is Ismelda,” Barnaby says eagerly, gesturing to a moody-looking girl sitting across from them. “She’s my friend.” Merula wonders if he’s ever not a bundle of energy and twitches her mouth in acknowledgement.

She vaguely recognizes Ismelda. She’s the girl Merula shared a room with first-year, who snored so incessantly nobody could get a good night’s sleep. She doesn’t come from a Slytherin family because Merula would have paid more attention to her.

“Do you know the killing curse?” Ismelda asks, her dark, greasy hair a curtain in front of her face. Merula blinks out of her thoughts and notices how sharp her nose is.

She opens her mouth to answer, but Ismelda beats her to it.

“I do.”

Merula blinks again, a little stunned. First off, Ismelda doesn’t look like she could cast_ Lumos _, much less one of the unforgivable curses. Second, they haven’t even gotten that far in the defense against the dark arts. Only fourth-year students and above are taught about the curses, and Merula only knows because she studied the curriculum and her parents told her about them.

“She’s joking,” Barnaby says cheerfully, like they aren’t talking about killing people. “Ismelda is actually really nice! She talks to me when no one else does.”

Merula stares at him.

“Don’t worry. I thought she was going to kill me at first too.”

Dumbledore choosens then to tap his wand against the scepter in his hand, and the entire room falls quiet. _ It’d be nice to be that powerful one day _.

“Students,” Dumbledore smiles, “I am here to announce the start of a competition.”

Merula sits up straight, perked in interest. This is the first interesting thing that has happened this whole year, and she’s itching for a chance to prove herself. 

“My _ esteemed _ guest, Ms. Rita Skeeter, is a journalist for the Daily Prophet. She wishes to write an article about the most promising and talented student here at our very own Hogwarts.” Was it just her imagination, or did Merula detect a hint of sarcasm around the word esteemed?

She almost gags when a woman dressed in a nauseating shade of pink steps forward. Ismelda seems to share Merula’s sentiment, and she finds herself thinking that the gloomy Slytherin might not be too bad.

“Students of Hogwarts,” Rita starts, her voice high pitched and nasal. Merula instantly dislikes her, and is caught off guard when her narrowed eyes sweep over the room, pausing on Merula for a brief moment before continuing.

“This competition will be composed of two parts. First in academic prowess and the second in duelling.” Merula glances around the room to find (y/n). “Your teachers and I will be judging you to determine a winner. The lucky witch or wizard will have a front-page article written about them by me.” The look on her face can only be described as smarmy.

Merula tamps down the excitement in her gut. She can’t mess this up — if she wins, then people will finally recognize her as the greatest witch at Hogwarts.

She doesn’t notice (y/n) glance at her from across the room, lips pursed with uncertainty.

* * *

The first part of the competition goes by without a hitch. It’s clear Merula is ahead of her classmates by a considerable amount. In Transfiguration, she and another Ravenclaw student named Talbott are the only two who successfully transfigure their porcupines to pin cushions.

Rita supervises as they showcase what spells they know in charms. There’s a sleepy-looking kid named Jae who actually poses a challenge, but she outperforms him with _ Arresto Momentum _ easily. Rita Skeeter even comments on her quick thinking.

Her final class is Potions, the only one she shares with (y/n). There’s a light feeling in her chest that she might call anxiety, but she strides into the classroom with her head held high in an attempt at looking confident.

(y/n) is already at her desk, looking over her books.

Merula grins at her when she sits down. “How have your classes been?”

(y/n) glances at her with a noncommittal shrug. “About the same.”

If Merula didn’t know better, she would think they were being _ civil _ with each other.

“Rita said I beat all the other kids by a landslide,” Merula boasts. The praise doesn’t actually mean that much to her, but (y/n)’s reaction does. “You don’t stand a chance,” she taunts.

Instead of reacting angrily, (y/n) sports an almost worried look. “Merula—” she starts, but then Rita Skeeter walks into the classroom, and class begins.

They’re tasked with making Wiggenweld concoction, something Merula could do in her sleep. She’s putting the final touches to her potion when (y/n) leans over, voice dropped low in a whisper. “She’s not a good person, Merula. Don’t trust her.”

Merula jerks, surprised. “What?”

“Rita Skeeter,” (y/n) murmurs, watching the journalist cautiously.

“What do you know?” Merula scoffs, training her focus back to her potion. She doesn’t want to overstir.

“She wrote bad things about my brother,” (y/n) says, and Merula pauses at that.

There isn’t any dishonesty on (y/n)’s face, and Merula opens her mouth, but then notices that her potion has gone a shade too dark. She hastily pulls out her stirring rod and scowls. “Was this your strategy? To distract me so I’d botch my potion?” She demands angrily.

(y/n) draws back, eyes wide. “What? _ No. _I don’t care about the competition.”

“Liar,” Merula hisses. Everything she’d done had been perfect up until this moment. (y/n) starts to protest, but is cut off when Snape and Rita walk over.

“It seems you’ve over stirred,” he tells Merula and she shoots (y/n) an accusatory look.

“And Miss (l/n),” Snape narrows his eyes at her cauldron. “Your potion is...adequate.”

Merula opens her mouth to tell him that (y/n) cheated, that her potion was perfect up until then, but Rita claps her hands. “So Miss (l/n) is the winner this round. I can’t _ wait _ for the second part of the competition.”

* * *

There’s a small crowd gathered in the courtyard. It seems that Rita has chosen the students she thought were most talented.

Rowan stands next to (y/n), along with Penny Haywood, Andre Egwu — a Ravenclaw — and Jae Kim, the Gryffindor from her charms class. On the side, Rowen stands, talking to her brother quietly. Merula is surprised to see that Talbott isn’t in the group. She’s never spoken to him before, but he’s clearly one of the smarter people at Hogwarts.

Rita claps her hands, an annoying habit she does whenever she’s about to talk.

“Welcome to the second part of the competition! You have all been chosen for your excellent wizarding skills and great showmanship. However, this next task will be a bit more challenging.” Jae lets out a loud yawn, inciting a dirty look from Rita. “You will duel each other, and you’ll choose who you wish to duel—”

“(y/n),” Merula blurts out without thinking. “I pick (y/n).”

Rita falls silent. Merula becomes acutely aware that the entire group is staring at her, (y/n) included.

“What?” She asks defensively, face flushing. 

Luckily, Rita Skeeter fills the silence. “How about we switch it up a bit? Miss (l/n) and Miss Snyde cannot duel each other. Now go on, pair off with each other.” There’s a smug smile on her face. Merula wishes she could wipe it off, but she stares at her feet instead, still embroiled in shame from her outburst.

She refuses to look anywhere remotely in (y/n)’s direction, just in case they make accidental eye-contact.

The duels go by quickly. Merula wins easily, and so does (y/n). Rita interrupts them with a loud yawn after Merula beats Rowen. “Yes, alright. I’ve seen enough.”

“What?” Merula asks. “Don’t we have to keep dueling? You don’t know who’s strongest yet.”_ Me, _she thinks, but Rita just waves her off.

“I think it’s clear who the strongest two here are. Miss (l/n)—” Merula scowls angrily, “and Miss Snyde. You’re both exemplary students, I just can’t choose.” Rita continues, her mouth curling into an off-putting smile. Next to Merula, (y/n) stiffens. “I need more information.”

(y/n)’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of information?”

“Secrets,” Rita says gleefully. “I want to know what you’re hiding, what you’re scared of, and to make it more interesting, why don’t you tell me what you know about each other.”

“I’m not doing that,” (y/n) says immediately.

To her credit, Rita manages to smother her surprised look very quickly. “Why ever not?”

“She’s scared you’ll find out about her brother,” Merula sneers. “He was expelled and there are rumors he’s working with Voldemort.”

There’s a collective gasp before everyone goes quiet. Rita glances around nervously but (y/n) just looks at Merula, face pinched together and almost hurt.

“Well, that’s old news,” Rita says. “What about Miss Snyde, Miss (l/n)? Surely you have something to say after she exploited your secrets.”

What could (y/n) say about her? That she’s a bully? Merula looks at her smugly, watching as (y/n) contemplates her next action. Finally, she turns to Rita, a resigned look on her face.

“Merula’s parents are in Azkaban for working with Voldemort—” another collective gasp, “during the Wizarding War.”

Merula stares at her, too shocked to feel angry. 

“He-who-must-not-be-named, Miss (l/n),” Rita snaps, anxiously adjusting her glasses.

(y/n) fixes Merula with a spiteful, level look that makes something in her go cold. “She’s a death eater’s daughter,” she finishes icily.

For a moment, she’s too stunned to react. Rita chortles. “Now _ that _ is a front-page story. _ The death eater’s daughter _—”

“I’m not!” Merula shouts, cutting her off. “I’m the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.” 

Rita doesn’t even look at her. “Yes, we heard you the first fifty times,” she says dismissively. “I think that concludes the competition. I’m sure you’ll be hearing who the winner is shortly.” She leaves in a hurry, her quill already scribbling away on a piece of parchment.

The whole room is silent, but (y/n) just straightens and walks away, the Khanna twins following. 

Merula shakes of her stupor before they can get too far and rushes after them, shoving her wand into her robes. “_ Hey, _” she shouts, moving to shove (y/n).

Rowan gets in front of her before she even makes contact, and the balance Merula has awkwardly been maintaining breaks, her wand clattering to the floor. 

Rowen reflexively bends down to help her pick up it up, but Rowan pulls her up, fixing Merula with a glare that would be vicious if he wasn’t so unintimidating. They’re at a standstill, no one moving or speaking, until (y/n) shifts behind the shield the Rowan has created.

“Just ignore her.”

Merula stares at her, and absurdly, even foolishly, feels betrayed. 

(y/n) doesn’t even bother turning to look at her, just keeps walking. The twins follow, and Rowen glances at her briefly before they turn the corner.

Merula is left alone, standing in the mess she’s made.

* * *

Merula’s started to notice a recurring theme. Whenever she feels terrible, she always finds herself in the courtyard. It’s far past curfew, and there’s no one outside. Merula notices an eagle swoop down and perch on a ledge, angling it’s head at her curiously. Merula glowers at it, wondering where it came from, before it takes off again and disappears into the night.

Felix told her to take deep breaths whenever she felt panicked, to focus on something small to calm herself, but Merula can hardly focus or breath right now.

She inhales but it’s cut off by a hiccup, and then she starts crying.

She’s done too much crying this year, and she’s ashamed to acknowledge it. Her parents always taught her to keep her face impassive, to not show any weakness.

_ Don’t cry Merle, _ her mother had told her after Merula scraped her knee in an accident. _ You’re a big girl. _

She misses her parents. She wishes they were here now.

_ Death eater’s daughter, _(y/n) had said. Merula knew that people thought that about her, they still whisper fearfully when she passes them in the halls, bringing up something Merula wishes they would forget.

_ Death eater’s daughter. _

Oddly, it hurts more that (y/n) thinks the same as everyone else. 

She thinks of Rita Skeeter, her blatant dismissal, the smile on her face when (y/n) had told her everything Merula was trying to hide.

_ Now that is a front-page story. _

Merula doesn’t want that getting out. She wants to be recognized, but not for _ that _.

Her sleeves are soaked from all the tears, and she’s sniffling pitifully. She’s glad she’s alone, but then she hears a clatter from behind her. Rowen is standing at the entrance to the courtyard with a conflicted expression on her face. 

Merula hopes she can’t see her crying in the dark.

Thankfully, Rowen leaves before it gets too awkward, and Merula stifles any sound she’s making in case she might hear it.

It takes an hour before she’s able to breathe evenly, but even then, she doesn’t return to her dorm.

* * *

All the students are chattering excitedly the next day. They’ve all gathered to hear the results of the competition. Merula had planned on staying in her room, but Felix had ushered her and other reluctant Slytherins into the great hall.

She already knows the winner. Rita’s evident glee at (y/n)’s answers and performance were clear indications.

She stares at the table as Rita speaks in front of the room. “Students, I am pleased to declare the winner of the competition. However, one of your very own will be announcing the results in my stead.”

There’s a ripple of murmurs throughout the crowd, but it dies when Rita says with exaggerated enunciation: “Miss (y/n) (l/n)? Would you please join me up here?”

Merula jerks upwards. As if (y/n) needed any more of an ego boost. But when she looks at her, (y/n) looks cautious and nervous. She walks forward tentatively as the other students mutter.

“Please announce the winner on this piece of parchment,” Rita says, handing her a small slip of paper.

(y/n) clears her throat, opening her mouth before her forehead scrunches in evident confusion. “Ms. Skeeter, the paper — it’s blank.” 

Rita tuts, “what nonsense are you spouting now? Announce the winner.”

(y/n)’s jaw clenches imperceptibly, and as her gaze sweeps over the student body, her eyes meet Merula’s. Merula can’t decipher the slight change in her expression, but then (y/n) straightens, and says with startling clarity: 

“Merula Snyde.”

The entire room goes quiet as everyone turns to stare at her. She can already hear them whispering, and Merula gapes, hardly able to believe it.

Barnaby starts clapping loudly. 

Slowly, the other Slytherins join him, hooting and hollering. 

Merula’s eyes are glued to (y/n)’s. There’s a resolute look in her eyes she can’t understand, but then it sinks in that she _ won _, and she grins triumphantly. Maybe she really is the most powerful witch at Hogwarts after all.

* * *

The next few weeks are nice. A lot of Slytherins congratulate her about the article, and some of the upperclassmen have even started nodding at her in the hallways. She tells Felix about it, and although he doesn’t seem that excited, he does tell her he’s proud of her.

The article itself is rather straightforward. Merula likes reading it, although she skips over the parts where Rita wrote about her parents. Luckily, her parents' ongoing stint in Azkaban and their association with Voldemort isn’t mentioned.

She mails a copy of the letter to her grandparents, and they send back a congratulatory letter, signed by the both of them.

To top off her good mood, she and Tulip finally find the door that the keys open. Well, Tulip was the one who found the entrance, but she waited so they could open it together.

Merula is too swept up in the flurry of events happening to notice that Tulip has been quieter and less energetic than usual. On the offhand, she asks: “are you okay?” 

Tulip looks uncharacteristically upset. “No.” Merula doesn’t press any further because she can’t tell if Tulip wants to talk about it. She always seems so cheerful and laidback, but this time her face is closed off and resigned.

The door seems ordinary enough as the two stand in front of it.

Tulip has been talking at a mile a minute next to her, like she’s trying to fill the silence with anything she can.

“—and the letter I found said that he was working with someone—”

“What?” Merula asks, cutting her off abruptly. 

Tulip blinks. “Um—”

“You didn’t tell me about any letter,” Merula scowls. Tulip goes pale, and Merula stares at her, realizing what it means. She hasn’t been spending as much time with her, but they’ve still met up once or twice to compare notes. This was something Tulip had never mentioned before. 

“You’ve been hiding stuff from me.”

“I wasn’t hiding stuff! I told you just now,” Tulip argues, but the guilty look in her eyes speak differently.

“When did you find it?” She demands.

“Four days ago. That’s not that long—”

“Yes it is!” Merula retorts.

Tulip bites her lip. “Look, let’s just open the door, okay?”

Merula stews, staring at her angrily, before she huffs and grabs one of the keys. Tulip is lucky she’s been in a good mood as of late, or she’d put up more of a fight. “Fine.”

The door creaks loudly as they both push it open. The room is dusty and unkempt. It’s dimly light and almost eerie, and for a minute, Merula is too busy taking it in before she notices the obvious evidence that someone’s been here recently.

Something hot and angry rises in her throat. “You’ve been here without me,” Merula says lowly.

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid! You’ve obviously been here before. Your stupid fingerprints are on the book covers—” 

“You’re overreacting,” Tulip says nervously.

“I’m reacting because you’re a liar!”

“_ You’ve been hiding stuff from me too! _” Merula is momentarily speechless at Tulip’s outburst. “You’ve been talking to those two Slytherins and doing extra practice—” Her face is red, and then they’re both screaming at each other, keys and discovery completely forgotten.

“You’re a lying _ snake _—” 

“_ Traitor _—” 

“You’re selfish and self-centered and—”

“You’re cheap— ” 

“—a bully that no one likes—” 

“_ You’re holding me back! _”

Tulip stares at her, hurt flashing in her eyes. Merula goes silent, wondering if she’s gone too far and if Tulip is going to cry.

“You don’t have any friends,” Tulip finishes petulantly, voice wobbly.

Merula can’t stand not having the last word. “Yeah? Well, no one wants to be friends with a backstabber like you. 

She’s too incensed to notice that Tulip has gone quiet, eyes stricken.

But Merula can’t stop, she keeps talking even though the damage has already been done. “And I do have friends. I’m the most powerful witch at Hogwarts. I don’t need a lying traitor like you.”

The only sound in the room is their heavy breathing.

Tulip looks ready to storm out, but Merula beats her to it. 

The door closes behind her with a loud slam. 

* * *

Two weeks go by, and neither of them try to approach each other. She starts using the free time she used to spend with Tulip talking to Ismelda and Barnaby.

They’re standing in the courtyard, and Barnaby is bulldozing through a story Merula is pretty sure both her and Ismelda aren’t understanding. 

“—and then I tried to feed them some of my treacle tart but they died,” Barnaby finishes dejectedly.

“Your flobberworms?” Ismelda asks incredulously.

Merula sighs, refraining from rolling her eyes.

She spots Tulip sitting alone across the courtyard, fidgeting with something in her hands. Merula straightens and moves to stand a little closer to Ismelda in hopes Tulip will see she’s doing much better without her.

Tulip looks at her almost nervously, and to Merula’s evident surprise, makes a gesture to say she’d like to talk.

The cold shoulder has been getting old, so Merula gives in and follows as Tulip gets up and leaves the courtyard.

“Bye!” Calls Barnaby. Merula gives a perfunctory wave as she slips into the corridor.

Tulip stands awkwardly to the side, hand clenched in a tightly wound fist.

“What?” Merula snaps.

“Is that all you have to say?” Tulip asks indignantly. 

“That’s already more than I want to say,” Merula retorts, but shuts up when Tulip shrinks back.

After an uncomfortable silence, Tulip opens her mouth. “I don’t think we should work together anymore.”

It's a thought that Merula has come up with herself, but hearing Tulip say it hurts more than she thought it would. “Well, I don’t want to work with you anymore either.”

Tulip stares at the floor. “Okay.” It sounds like she’s about to cry.

To cut the tension, Merula thrusts her hand out. “Gimme the key.”

“What? Why?”

“I should get both keys,” Merula offers in explanation.

Tulip gives her a baffled look. “But we both found them.”

“You obviously can’t handle them,” Merula says, rolling her eyes.

Tulip’s face twists in fury. “You’re such a bully.”

“And you’re a traitor,” Merula replies without missing a beat. Tulip falls silent again, arms stiff at her sides. She’s starting to get sick of the awkward pauses, so Merula backs off. “Fine, we both get one, but don’t think I’m ever going to help you again.”

Tulip looks ready to say something, but obviously thinks better of it. 

“Fine,” she scowls, voice clipped.

“Fine,” Merula echoes before walking away.

She wishes the agreement didn’t hurt as much as it does.

* * *

The library is busier than usual. Madam Pince doesn’t look quite thrilled at the sudden influx of students when Merula walks in, arms laden with thick textbooks.

O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts are coming up soon. All the upperclassmen are busy studying, and Felix hasn’t even had time to say hi lately, much less tutor Merula. To pass that time, she’s taken to spending more time in the library herself.

Her usual spot has been taken by a group of panicked fifth years.

“What do you mean wild rice isn’t poisonous?” One of them says.

“You’re thinking about gillyweed,” offers another.

“No,” snaps a third. “That's venomous tentacula.”

Merula decides it would be better to leave them alone, they seem stressed enough as it is. She wanders around a bit, walking between the shelves, keeping her eyes open for any material she might find interesting.

She wanders right into a table, and she’s about to back up, irritated by her own clumsiness, when she sees who’s sitting in front of her.

(y/n) and the Khanna twins stare at her, and Merula freezes.

Rowan very unsuspiciously snaps the book they’re reading closed, sliding it under the table. “What do you want?” He asks.

Merula feels her fists clench. She was just _ walking _, there’s no need for him to be so hostile. 

(y/n) sighs. “Let’s move somewhere else,” she says, about to stand up.

And Merula is tired. She’s tired of being treated like she’s nothing. She’s tired of people not taking her seriously, ignoring her, telling her she’s not good enough and never will be. It’s obvious (y/n) doesn’t want to fight, but Merula does, especially if it’s the only thing that will get (y/n) to notice her.

“Cursed child,” Merula hisses.

(y/n)’s eyes flicker to hers, burning with fury, and this time she rises to the bait. “Death eater’s daughter.” She spits the words out coldly, like the very thought of Merula disgusts her, like she’s worthless and weak and nothing, and something in Merula snaps.

She lunges across the table to rake her nails across her face, sending books flying as the two of them tumble to the ground in a flurry of movement.

She can hear people screaming in the background, shouting as the two of them scuffle on the ground, grabbing anything they can get their hands on. (y/n) grabs her wrists, resisting as Merula tries to claw her stupid, stupid eyes out, snarling and struggling against her grip. 

Someone grabs Merula around the waist, attempting to pull her away, but (y/n) grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs, and the both of them topple again.

“You’re the _ worst _ ,” (y/n) punches out as they grapple with each other. “I _ hate _you—” Merula tries kicking her, but a mass of hands are pulling her away, separating the two of them.

“Stop it!” Rowen cried. Her twin has a hand on (y/n)’s shoulders, face scrunched with anger.

Merula doesn’t recognize the people holding her back, only knows they’re Slytherins by the color of their robes. A large crowd has formed without their knowing it, all of them murmuring and staring. She sees people shuffle as Madam Pince pushes her way to the front, shoulders trembling with repressed rage.

“Never before— in all my years — absolutely _ unacceptable — out! OUT! _ ” Pince shrieks at them, her face a vibrant shade of purple. “Fifty points from both your houses — _ inappropriate — OUT! _”

Neither of them say anything as they’re steered away. Merula angrily shakes off the hands pushing her towards the door. Ismelda is in the crowd, and she comes over nervously. “Are you okay?”

Merula pushes her off and storms down the corridor. She knows people are watching, that this will be the talk of the castle. She doesn’t care because her reputation is already ruined, but then she sees Felix rushing towards her and she realizes it isn’t over yet.

“Merula!” He sounds scandalized and angry and concerned all at once. “Someone said — I was told — you got in a _ fight? _” 

Merula shrinks back, ready to be reprimanded, but Felix just rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. There’s still a crowd watching them, and Felix turns to them. “Get to class!” hHe roars, and Merula stares, stunned, as the hallway clears in record time.

His forehead is creased with worry, and Merula wonders how much she’s contributed to his dark eye bags. His tone is soft when he speaks to her. “What happened?”

It shouldn’t be this hard to speak, especially when the corridor is empty and no one else is listening, but Merula’s throat is closed up. Felix has never been patient, but this time he waits for her to speak, arms crossed and silent.

“She called me ‘death eater’s daughter’,” Merula finally says, and embarrassingly, her voice cracks. _ You’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, _she tells herself, but the tightness in her throat won't go away.

Felix is silent, mouth pursed in a thin line. “Your parent’s don’t define you, Merula,” he says quietly. “The people who matter won’t care.” 

Then why does it seem like everyone who matters cares? Why do all her classmates see her as such: judging her, acting like she’ll kill them if they step out of line or cross her? Merula wants power, but she wants the kind where she’s revered, not the one driven by fear.

“I don’t think (l/n) would have done something like that unprovoked,” Felix continues after a silence. “Did you say anything to her?”

Merula clenches her fists, unclenches them. “Cursed child,” she says almost imperceptibly.

The quiet returns as Felix mulls over his next words. “You don’t like being insulted because of your parents, do you?”

Merula looks up indignantly, because what kind of question is that? It should be obvious at this point, but then she sees the look on Felix’s face and realizes that wasn’t the point of his question. There always seems to be some hidden meaning behind his words when he talks to her.

He takes her silence as its own answer. “It’s the same for (l/n), except for her brother.” 

When Merula looks back at the floor, he sighs. “I’m not going to punish you any further, I heard Madam Pince already took away fifty house points.” His voice breaks on the word fifty. “Go clean yourself up.” 

Merula shuffles away as quickly as she can, but Felix stops her again. 

“And think about what I said,” he adds.

Merula just nods and keeps walking.

* * *

The end of the year feast isn’t as grand as she remembered it to be. Merula doesn’t feel anything but a tired resoluteness when she walks through the doors, taking in the decorations and tables laden with food. 

Barnaby enthusiastically waves to her, knocking a display of puff pastries over. Ismelda sits beside him, and even offers a grimace when Merula meets her eyes. 

She’s walking over, avoiding people’s shoulders and trying not to jostle anyone when she sees Tulip ahead. She’s talking to another Ravenclaw girl and Merula grits her teeth.

Their eyes meet, and Tulip looks tentative, like she’s not sure how to act. She even opens her mouth to say something, but Merula doesn’t wait and brushes past her coldly, knocking their shoulders together forcefully. 

She doesn’t look back to see Tulip’s reaction, and sits down beside Ismelda who is helping herself to roast pork. 

“Who was that?” She asks.

“No one,” Merula says, hoping her voice will miraculously carry so Tulip hears.

The feast goes by quickly, and Merula lets herself enjoy it for a moment. Barnaby is a little stupid and doesn’t get half of what he’s saying, but his enthusiasm carries through the conversation. And Ismelda, despite her lackluster appearance, actually knows a lot about curses — things Merula hasn’t even read about yet. 

And perhaps best of all, neither of them are scared of her. Ismelda seems interested in the parts of Merula’s life that other people treat with disdain, and Barnaby might be slow but he still understands what it’s like to have death eaters as parents.

It is an acceptance Merula hasn’t found until now.

They make plans to sit together on the train cart and to write to each other during the summer. “I’ll send you some of my books about curses,” Ismelda tells her with a dark smile.

Merula nods, returning the look with a smile of her own. From across the room, she sees (y/n). There’s another addition to her steadily growing group: a short stocky girl with bright pink hair. Something in Merula’s gut clenches and she forces herself to look away.

There’s more to come. She still has to figure out the cursed vaults, has to become the most powerful witch, has to bring her parents back — although that last goal seems far fetched after the events of this year. 

The future is overwhelming and uncertain, but sitting with Ismelda and Barnaby, laughing about Dumbledore’s choice of fashion, is enough to ground her in the moment. Merula lets herself enjoy her final moments as a second-year as it draws to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much more planned for this and i’m super excited for it — i just hope I won’t lose motivation on the way. Thank you so much for all the comments and support, you guys are the absolute BEST — see you guys in year 3. I promise there will be happier Merula and mc moments :)

**Author's Note:**

> note: i’m not condoning merula’s actions, just trying to write her redemption because jam city refuses to give her one.
> 
> updates will be slow - please bear with me


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